


green light

by justcourbeau, uneventfulhouses



Series: where we intersect [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Car Sex, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcourbeau/pseuds/justcourbeau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “You remember the color system?” Shane says gently, letting go of Ryan’s hair and setting both of his hands on Ryan’s waist. Ryan nods.“You think we’re gonna need that this time?” he asks.Shane lets a beat of silence well up between them, thick and anticipatory. “Yeah, I really do. Tell me the colors.”Or, Shane and Ryan find all the places they intersect, and then some.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: where we intersect [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673467
Comments: 67
Kudos: 231





	green light

**Author's Note:**

> This series turned into 33,977 words of relationship development as told through (mostly) sex, and we are not mad about it. Sometimes, you just have to write the fic you wish to see in the world. 
> 
> Thank you to Jess for slogging through this monster of a third installment. Your insights help more than you know. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who listened to us whine and/or prattle on about this monster while it was in its various stages of development.

Time passes, and Shane doesn’t say anything more on the subject of… well. Loaning Ryan out? Watching him with another person? However phrased, it doesn’t come up again, and Ryan gives Shane the space to think about it, mull it over, and come to him when he’s ready. 

In the meantime, though. In the meantime, Ryan is wholly and fully satisfied.

-:-

The car door shuts with a soft slam, but Ryan doesn’t immediately turn the car on. Instead, he glances over at Shane, who’s looking down at his phone, scrolling through whatever app entertains him at three in the morning after a shoot. 

There’s something stuck inside Ryan’s chest; it’s their last shoot for Unsolved and he’s— _mourning_?—sad. It’s been so many years; a chunk of his life working on a project he loves with every part of him. Leaving BuzzFeed had placed an expiration date on the show. He’d known that, he just hadn’t thought it would come so soon. And granted, it gives them a wide chunk of time for the bright and shiny new thing they set out to do, but it feels a lot like he’s _losing_ something. 

Looking at Shane, it feels like Shane’s the only thing that’s left of it. 

For a moment, in the silence of the car, Ryan thinks back to the first part of it, the very beginning of Unsolved. How he’d asked Shane, on a whim, to help him out, and Shane had agreed because for that week he’d been available. Somehow, everything aligned and gave him a weeks’ long window, and Shane’s been right there with him ever since. 

Then, somehow, _years_ have passed. Somehow, between their particular taste for jokes and their brand of conversation, he’d managed to define the feelings he held in his chest for Shane, had given them a name. He knows now what that warm, clothes-out-of-the-dryer, sitting-too-close-to-the fire, cozy-underneath-the-blankets-first-thing-in-the-morning feeling is. 

Somehow, even though the show is ending, he’s allowed to keep the best part of Unsolved. 

Shane’s sitting right next to him, like he always is. So, instead of clicking on his seatbelt, Ryan takes off his jacket and throws it in the backseat, where it lands with a thwack. 

Shane looks over at him. 

“Hot?” he asks, so innocently, and it makes Ryan smile, right before he climbs over the center console and deposits himself into Shane’s lap, despite Shane’s exclamations asking what the fuck he’s doing. 

Ryan doesn’t answer him, not even entertaining Shane with a look. Ryan reaches past Shane’s hip for the seat lever, and Shane drops back. Ryan takes Shane’s phone and tosses it onto the driver’s seat. 

“Can I help you?” Shane asks, bemused. There are a lot of things about Shane he loves; there isn’t enough paper in the world to list them all, but it starts here, with the way Shane looks at him, with eyes so bright he can see them in the dim light the car garage offers. 

“Yeah.” Sitting astride Shane’s hips, Ryan settles his hands on Shane’s chest, rubbing the fabric of his shirt. Shane hums softly, and Ryan leans forward to kiss him, full and hard and dirty from the jump. Shane pulls back, their lips smacking softly. Ryan frames Shane’s face with his palms. 

“Hey, hey,” Shane says, his voice soft. “I’m all for making out in a car, but—”

“But nothing, just kiss me,” Ryan huffs, dipping his head down to lick over Shane’s throat, scraping his tongue over the coarse hair of Shane’s stubble. Shane’s hands settle onto Ryan’s thighs, and Ryan can’t help himself, dragging his hips over Shane’s. 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane whispers into the car. “What—” 

He cuts Shane off with the press of his mouth, kissing him again, and this time, Ryan’s hand drags low, over Shane’s stomach to the button of his pants, separating it before he lowers the zipper. 

“Ryan, babe, come on—what’s gotten into you?” 

“Nothing, I just—I just want to kiss you right now,” Ryan says.

“Kiss me?” Shane asks. “You were going straight for my dick.” 

“Yeah, maybe I wanted to get you off, too.” 

Shane takes both of Ryan’s hands in his, effectively stopping him, and Ryan’s shoulders droop. 

“Something’s wrong, what’s going on—” 

“Sex. Sex is going on. Or it’s trying to. Do you—can you just—” Ryan groans, shaking his head, not quite meeting Shane’s eyes. Ryan looks at their joined hands, where Shane’s clasped them so easily together. 

Shane lets his hands go, relenting, setting his on Ryan’s waist as Ryan threads his fingers through Shane’s hair. This time, when he kisses Shane, Shane’s fully present, responding with heat and fervor, licking into Ryan’s mouth, tongue sliding over his own. Ryan groans, sucking in a harsh breath when Shane breaks the kiss and goes in for his throat, his teeth unforgiving when he bites at Ryan’s skin. 

Ryan drags his hips against Shane; he can feel Shane hardening under his ass, and Ryan rubs himself against Shane’s belly, moaning softly. 

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan breathes, tugging at Shane’s hair with his left hand, while his right reaches between them, palming Shane’s cock over his pants after he slides back over Shane’s thighs to give them space. Shane groans against his throat, and Ryan can feel the vibration of it in his bones, like fire in his veins. Ryan’s heart is beating so fast. 

“I’m too old to be coming in my pants, Ry,” Shane whispers. "We can wait until we get to the hotel. I’ll spread you out and fuck you real slow like you like. Hard and—” Shane’s voice cuts off when Ryan gets a hand around him, stroking with a firm grip, feeling Shane become harder against his palm, the way his hips jolt underneath Ryan’s weight.

“I don't want to wait. Shut up, Shane,” Ryan sighs. 

“Why not?”

Frustrated, Ryan sits back, smacking his hands against his own thighs. “Because! Because this is the last time we get to shoot an episode for Unsolved, and I’m a little fucked up over it, and I’d like for you to just shut up and get me off to make me feel better,” Ryan huffs, not quite looking Shane in the eyes.

The touch of Shane’s hand against his cheek makes warmth flourish through Ryan, filling him as it blooms all throughout his body. He looks up then, meeting Shane’s eyes, seeing his easy smile, the way he just relents and concedes and allows. 

“Alright,” Shane says. 

“Fucking finally, thank you, love you, make me come so hard I pass out, _please_ ,” Ryan mutters, and Shane laughs. 

“You’re ridiculous, Ryan. We're lucky these windows are tinted." Shane looks around, and the light of the car garage is muted inside the car. The front of the car faces a cement wall. There’s no way, unless someone is pressed up against the glass, that they can be seen. They’re _fine._

“You’re lucky _your_ windows are tinted,” Ryan retorts.

“What? That doesn’t even make sense,” Shane says, his tone light. His thumb swipes so gently over Ryan’s cheek, much too soft for the antsy way Ryan is feeling. They can make love some other night, they can be sweet and gentle and romantic some other time. Right now, Ryan just wants Shane’s hands on him, clutching him, pulling him, making him so hot he feels like his skin is too tight for his body. 

“Can you quit with the talking and just kiss me, for the love of God,” Ryan complains. Shane grins, shaking his head before he drags Ryan in for a kiss. Ryan gets his hand around Shane again, stroking him steadily as his other hand pushes up Shane’s shirt, and all he can feel is Shane’s flushed, heated skin underneath his touch. 

Shane gets his hands on him, pulling apart the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper, shoving his hand underneath his underwear to touch Ryan. Ryan moans against Shane’s mouth, breathing too hard to keep kissing. 

“Together, together,” Ryan breathes. “Here, spit in my hand—” 

“ _Ryan_ —” Shane exclaims.

“Just—God, just do it.” 

It shouldn’t be hot is the thing, but it is, and Ryan bites down on his lip as he watches Shane spit into his hand, Shane watching him with dark eyes. Staring back at Shane, Ryan doesn’t hesitate to wet himself with it, reaching his hand back up to his own mouth so he can get Shane wet with it, too. He knows they’ll both start dripping enough that it’ll help with slicking them up. 

“Fuck, Ryan, _Christ_ ,” Shane mumbles as soon as Ryan moves close enough to wrap his hand around the both of them. With his other hand, Ryan clutches at Shane’s hair with aching fingers while Shane mouths at his throat, his neck, the hollow between his collarbones. 

“Mark me up, please, _please_ ,” Ryan begs in a breathless whisper. Shane does as he’s asked, Ryan can feel it, his teeth and tongue, the pressure of Shane’s mouth sucking on his flesh. 

They could have waited until they got to the hotel. He could’ve let Shane spread him out on the bed and fuck him slow and hard, exactly like he likes Shane to fuck him, but it wouldn’t be this, and this fast and messy, mostly-dressed, semi-public sex is what Ryan needs right now. It’s the heat of their breath fogging up the windows and the slick clicking of Ryan’s hand around their dicks. It’s Shane’s harsh breathing and the way he grunts when Ryan rubs his thumb over the tip of his cock. 

“You feel so good, you feel so good,” Ryan breathes, and Shane pulls back to look at him; Ryan’s knees hurt from being tucked between the center console and the passenger side door, but it’s a dull ache in comparison the Ryan’s hyper-focus on Shane’s hand when Shane touches his cheek. He presses his thumb against Ryan’s bottom lip; Ryan’s tongue slips out just to taste, and Shane presses his thumb against it. Ryan sucks on it, quickening the pace of his hand over both of them. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Shane whispers to him, with heavy-lidded eyes, lips reddened from kissing over Ryan’s stubble. 

Just then, a car drives by and Ryan trembles; Shane’s laugh is half a moan, half a laugh, and Ryan bites on Shane’s thumb, in petty retaliation. 

“I didn’t take you— _fuck_ —for much of a public person, Ry. Does this get you hot, fucking somewhere someone can see you?” Shane shifts his hand to properly grasp at Ryan’s ass underneath the fabric of his underwear and jeans. Ryan quickens the pace over the both of them, and Shane sucks in a harsh breath. 

“Answer me, baby,” Shane coaxes, pulling his hand away from Ryan’s face, drifting his hand down to touch Ryan’s chest, rubbing his wet thumb over the hard peak of Ryan’s nipple through his t-shirt. Pleasure strikes through him, hot and desperate, and he doesn’t have time to say how close he is. Shane knows, he must, with the way he pushes Ryan’s hand out of the way and wraps his own around them; Ryan rocks his hips forward, both hands steadied on Shane’s chest.

“Yes, _fuck_ , yes, yes—” Ryan mewls, closing his eyes tight as his fingers bunch in the material of Shane’s shirt. His back arches, and he comes so spectacularly that there’s light behind his eyelids. 

“There you go, look at you,” Shane says, just before he comes, and Ryan hears the soft groan of his name and then the tremble of Shane’s body between Ryan’s thighs. 

When Ryan opens his eyes, Shane’s got his closed, and Ryan leans down to kiss over the line of Shane’s jaw, his cheeks, his mouth, soft. It’s just a long gentle press of their mouths, and when Ryan pulls away, he leans his forehead on Shane’s. 

“Feel better?” Shane asks, and Ryan shakes his head. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ryan whispers. “It was good—a good distraction, but this was—it was everything to me for a long time.” 

“Come on, let’s get back to the hotel. We’ll shower and eat and—whatever you want. We can do it.” 

“Just want to sleep,” Ryan murmurs. 

“We can do that,” Shane says. “In fact, I encourage such an activity.” 

Ryan smiles then, inhaling deep before he kisses Shane again, exhaling through his nose.

When he sits up, Shane’s got that dopey, just-came look on his face. His eyes sparkle, and his clean hand is hot on Ryan’s waist underneath his shirt. 

“I love you. I love you, and I just need you to know that,” Ryan says. 

“I do know that.” Shane’s brow furrows, and he frowns a little like he’s confused. 

“No—God, I know you know, but you _don’t_. And I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to tell you or show you. It’s like—I don’t even know how to explain what I feel about you. You’re so good to me, you’re so good. How are you so good?” 

Shane sits silent; Ryan knows this isn’t something he’s good at, verbalized emotions and feelings—he knows this isn’t Shane’s cup of tea. But it’s still there, this hot feeling in Ryan’s chest, and for some reason, he needs so badly for Shane to feel it. 

“I just—so much time has passed, and I can’t believe you and I, a couple of idiot interns with a Taco Bell addiction are _here_. That _you’re_ here. You’re always here with me, and you just—” Ryan sighs. “I just love you a stupid, stupid amount. If my heart was a pie chart, you are, like, a solid ninety seven and a half percent.” 

“What’s the other two and a half?” Shane asks, grinning, his tone mock-scandalized. 

“Disneyland and basketball,” Ryan teases. “One and a quarter percent each.” 

Shane laughs, and Ryan leans down again, for just one more kiss. 

Grappling for the door handle, the door flings open, luckily not hitting the car next to them, and carefully, they tuck themselves back into pants, wiping messy hands onto the t-shirt Ryan pulls off, pulling back on his hoodie. 

“God, it smells like sex, now that there’s actual air,” Ryan whispers, and Shane laughs. 

“Shut up. Jesus,” Shane admonishes. Ryan grins, looking through every window, even though there isn’t anyone else in the car garage. After all, Shane _had_ guessed right about the excitement riling Ryan up.

Cleaned up, Ryan gets out of the car, but what he doesn’t expect is for Shane to get out, too. 

“Whatcha doin’?” Ryan asks, looking up at Shane. He’s still got pink in his cheeks, and he brushes back his hair away from his sweaty forehead. Ryan gets a little caught up in it, a little mesmerized. 

“You—just—I’ll drive us back. Take a sec, okay?” Shane levels Ryan with that look he gets sometimes, a look that tells Ryan exactly what he feels without words. A language entirely his own, one that Ryan’s studied for so long it’s practically native to him. 

“Okay,” Ryan says, not putting up a fight. This is Shane—and Shane loves him. He gently claps his hand over Shane’s chest before Shane rounds the car to the driver’s side.

The car ride is quiet, Ryan yawning in the passenger seat, guiding Shane back to the hotel. They grab bags of equipment and make their way up to their room. 

After they set down their bags at the end of one of the beds, Ryan takes Shane’s hand and they beeline for the bathroom. 

Ryan takes care to set the water temperature and then helps Shane out of his clothes after he strips from his own. They use the hotel toiletries, washing over skin as they kiss, wrapped warm by the shower steam and hot water. 

When they get out, Shane wraps a towel around his waist, and then offers one to Ryan. There’s a furrow to his brow, though, and Ryan sets his hand on Shane’s chest. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

“Mm—I think sitting like that in the car fucked up my back a little,” Shane admits, a pained look pinching his face. 

“Well, go lay down. I’ll work it out for you.” 

Shane gives him a soft smile and does just that, peeling back the blankets and sliding underneath the sheets naked after he towels his hair off. Ryan does the same thing, stopping to grab Shane’s hand lotion from his bag before sitting on the backs of Shane’s thighs. He squirts a healthy amount onto his palm and rubs his hands together to take away the chill, and then sets them heavy against Shane’s shoulder blades, dragging hard all the way down, stopping right above his ass. Shane groans softly, muffled by his forearm. 

In the quiet, Ryan thinks some more. Over thinks and analyzes. 

There might possibly, maybe, not be a single thing in the world he wouldn’t do for Shane. And that realization is somewhat frightening. Ryan knows he has the capacity to be too much in his emotions, to feel things over-abundantly. He knows he can be a lot for Shane sometimes, but somehow, they manage to work together. It’s a miracle, Ryan thinks, that they don’t constantly fight, that Shane makes him laugh more than he pisses Ryan off. It’s a miracle that they’ve come this far without tripping over each other, or killing each other.

Shane’s emotional capacity is wide and cavernous, but it stays stuck behind a barrier, some sort of steel-forged wall Ryan is just beginning to learn to navigate. There’s a keypad on a locked door, and for a long, long time, Ryan’s been punching in the wrong number combinations, guessing at the password. But somewhere, maybe through context clues and hints, he’s figured out the right combination of four numbers, punched them in, and now the indicator light flashes green. 

With his thumbs pressed into the bottom of Shane’s spine, Ryan whispers, “Better?” 

“Yeah,” Shane answers. 

Ryan climbs off of him, flopping onto the bed beside Shane. 

“Do you feel better?” Shane asks him, curling an arm around Ryan’s waist, tugging him close. 

“Actually, I do.” 

“Yeah?” 

Ryan nods. “A little. I’ll probably cry about it tomorrow, we’ll see.” 

Shane’s laugh is a breath, soft, and he leans up on a forearm, looking down at Ryan. Ryan sighs. 

“It’s okay to feel like this, Ry. It’s big,” he says. His voice is gentle, but sincere. Ryan makes a face, grimacing. 

“I know. I know, but at the same time, I feel like I shouldn’t. We’re doing other things with Watcher, and we’re doing well, but—but I don’t know. I feel like I’ve lost a lung.” 

“It’ll get easier. It will, I promise,” Shane says. His mouth quirks into a crooked smile, and it already, a tiny, little, miniscule bit, feels better. 

“Got you, though. Isn’t that insane? I think about it. Like—like what if I’d never asked you to do the show with me? We wouldn’t be here right now. And that’s fucking crazy to think about,” Ryan murmurs. Shane smiles wider, something fond and sweet, something just for him. Something only Ryan gets to see, when they lay like this, and Shane soothes the burn of his anxious fears. 

“You did get me,” Shane agrees. “Out of all of that, we’re doing this thing. This crazy thing and, you know. I love you. And I’m glad that—” Shane breathes out a frustrated breath “—you chose to share this all with me.”

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to tell me how you feel,” Ryan teases.

“You're a dick.” But even as Shane says so, his smile doesn’t falter. 

“Good thing you like dicks, then.” 

“ _Ryan_.”

-:-

Shane nearly drops his phone when it chimes out of nowhere, loud in the relative early morning quiet of the Watcher office. He quickly reaches to flip it to silent before glancing at the screen to see that Ryan sent him a picture. 

Ryan’s current photo journal series has been the progression of Obi’s extremely gradual acceptance of Ryan’s permanent relocation to Shane’s apartment, along with all of his belongings. Shane swipes it open, eager to see yet another photo of the Obiman, a smidge closer to Ryan’s feet on the kitchen mat than he had been in yesterday’s picture. 

The photo is _not_ of Obi, however. 

It’s of Ryan, leaning against the counter in front of the bathroom mirror, steamy and damp, with his toothbrush in his mouth and not a stitch on him.

Shane feels his mouth drop open and go a little dry.

_This guy._

Shane’s at _work—_ Ryan knows this. Shane’s at work at their offices, slaving over last minute tweaks on a video edit at 7:13am on a _Wednesday._ He hasn’t even had breakfast yet.

Over the last few weeks, Ryan’s really taken to sending Shane nudes of various and increasing levels, but this is the most blatant picture so far. It’s silent around Shane because he’s the only one there, but he still casts a glance around to double check. 

The thing is, Shane responds. He’s responded to all of them, texting back with degrees of either explicitly stated or implied appreciative horniness, but he’s never sent Ryan a picture in return. It’s not really his thing, is all? He likes looking at Ryan, will _always_ like looking at Ryan, whether he’s fully clothed and carrying the groceries to the car, or half naked and making coffee in the kitchen, or bare-assed and panting under Shane. Whatever the circumstances, Shane looks his fill because Ryan is a gorgeous man. 

So of course Shane answers him.

**holy fuck ry**

But the more he stares at the picture, tapping his screen intermittently so it doesn’t go dark, the more he thinks—hmm. Shane presses his palm into his lap, thinking, shifting in his chair before he makes the decision. He taps on the new picture, zooming in, eyes scoping out Ryan’s biceps, the inward slant of his side, the vague suggestion of cock conveniently blocked from view by the edge of the counter. Shane’s swelling in his pants, and he just… 

He caves. He presses harder into his lap before tugging his fly down and shifting again, making some room for himself and leaning back. He frames up the shot, bringing the obvious line of himself, still covered by fabric, into focus and hits the shutter.

It’s nothing special; it’s not like Ryan’s shot, not like _any_ of Ryan’s shots, full of muscles and tan skin and broad shoulders and especially unabashed nakedness, but it is Shane’s version of that, which he’s sure Ryan will get a kick out of.

Shane hesitates for a second, fingertip hovering over the send button. _Fuck it._ It’s like flipping a switch. He taps, and the typing bubbles appear from Ryan’s end almost immediately.

**big guy finally comes thru**

**and he’s a little wet about it huh**

Shane chews on his tongue briefly, glancing down to where he knows the damp spot on his underwear is growing. Ryan is silent after that, and Shane spends another minute staring at their text thread before setting his phone back down and going back to his editing. Once his problem has deflated, he tucks everything back into his chinos, sparing a glance at his phone screen one more time. Nothing more. 

A bit later, Shane is so ensconced in the final details of what he’s working on that his phone lighting up again unexpectedly startles him almost as much as if it had pinged aloud. The clock says it’s closer to 8:30 now, and Shane knows Katie will be in soon.

It’s Ryan again, and Shane doesn’t snatch his phone up eagerly, but he also doesn’t _not_ snatch it up eagerly. 

It’s a video this time, and all Shane can see in the preview is unidentifiable Ryan skin. Shane’s dick is already half-hard again in anticipation, and that’s just really inconvenient.

He hits play. 

Video Ryan shimmies onto their bed, visible only from the torso down, a used towel flung over the end near his feet. He’s hard, flushed dark, and resting on his stomach. Shane swallows through the sudden cottonmouth.

“I hope no one’s in the office with you yet, or this might get awkward for you,” Video Ryan says, voice close to the speaker, accompanied by the noise of him shifting and settling on his back. With no preamble, Ryan takes himself in hand and starts a gentle stroke, and Shane chokes on his own tongue.

After about thirty seconds of Shane watching, gobsmacked, Ryan’s hand disappears from the frame for a second before reappearing just a moment later, slick with lube. Ryan’s breathing hitches as he coats himself and starts up again, little huffs starkly audible in the recording. 

Shane is painfully hard, but he can’t rip his eyes away from his phone screen. Ryan sets a new rhythm, half a pace faster than the previous one, aided by the lube. He also adds a twist as he comes up under his head, and Shane blows out a puff of air in awed exasperation. 

“Shane.” Ryan’s whisper is followed by a gasp.

_“Jesus Christ,_ Ryan,” Shane groans.

But it keeps going, _Ryan_ keeps going, and Shane is pulled along with him, like he’s the strongest undertow Shane’s ever encountered. Ryan’s pace picks up again, and he settles into a rhythm Shane knows best now, aside from his own. 

Shane shouldn’t turn the volume up—he’s at _work,_ anyone could walk in, this is bad—but he turns it up anyway because Ryan’s breathy little pants are sending the most delectable tingles down his spine and straight to the tip of his dick. 

“Do you remember, _ah,”_ Ryan’s voice comes through, loud, and Shane can feel the redness in his cheeks deepening, because this is all for _him._ “Do you remember that night I finally told you what I wanted? That was, _ah,_ such a relief. And then that blowjob? God, Shane, I—”

Ryan lets out a low, protracted moan and Shane finds himself on the edge of his seat, waiting to hear what the thought is that made that noise come out of his boyfriend's mouth.

“I don’t jerk—jerk off that much anymore, cause, you know,” he huffs a laugh, hand still moving over himself in a smooth, unbroken rhythm, “I’m way more into you than my own hand. But when I do…”

Ryan’s breathing is getting more labored, and Shane can almost feel the inevitable stutter in his movements, knows those breath hitches like his own, can tell that Ryan is very close to—

“But when I do,” Ryan continues after a big, gasping inhale, “I think about that morning, all the details, god, _Shane._ You—”

_I, what?_ he thinks, desperate, aching, slack jawed. He’s frozen in this limbo Ryan has created, and he’s—it’s half divine pleasure, half agony, and there is _nothing_ he can do about it. 

“Your mouth, Shane, _your fucking mouth,”_ is all Ryan has the wherewithall to supply before the frame jumps a bit, jostled. Shane watches in pained awe as Ryan comes hard, loud in the silence of their bedroom _and_ the office, spurting up his own chest a few times before dripping the last bit into a little pool on his lower belly. 

There’s a few long moments of contented silence on Ryan’s part, where Shane can hear the gradual comedown, and Ryan ends the video with a self satisfied little _“Ha.”_ The last frame freezes and holds, and Shane feels like he still can’t breathe, can’t move—

“Good morning!” Katie chirrups, bright and happy and scaring the everloving shit out of him. She realizes her mistake when Shane jumps in his chair so violently that it creaks. “Oh, sorry Shane, I didn’t—are you okay? You’re really—pink.”

“What? Yes. It’s fine, I’m fine.” He gives his head a shake as Katie meanders over to her desk, eyes still sharp on him. “It’s just really warm in here, and, uh, I was zoning out over this edit—hey, do you think you could take a final runthrough for me? I’ve been at it since six, and I’m no longer a functioning person.”

“Jesus Christ, Shane,” she comments, giving him a quick once over. Shane is beyond grateful for the desks between her unsuspecting eyes and his guilty-as-charged lap. “You could have let me do that. You look like you desperately need a day off, if I’m honest. Where’s Ryan?”

“He’s—” Shane starts, strangled, before clearing his throat. “He’s on his way in, I think.”

Katie unpacks her bag and throws her jacket over the back of her swivel chair, glancing up at him through the space between their monitors. She’s _intent,_ eyes narrowed in concern, and Shane curses Ryan again.

“I know it’s been a lot here, with the company, and Ryan moved in not that long ago… Are you guys okay?”

Shane feels the heat in his cheeks continue to prickle under her gaze. “Yeah, we’re—things are good, Katie. Nothing to worry about on that front.” Shane gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Well, you know, I’m here to help, and if you need a break—which, like, you _do,_ don’t deny it—I’m willing to be the one here at six in the morning for a bit. You should take a day off soon, or two. Like a whole long weekend. You _and_ Ryan,” she says pointedly.

Shane nods, and then nods some more. “You are very right, Katie, as usual.” Shane drums his fingers on his desk. “How about you look at the shooting schedule and tell me when a good time to take off for three or four days would be okay.”

“Alright.” Katie looks moderately thankful that Shane didn’t fight her on the idea of not being available for a few days, but she is right, he thinks. They’ve been going at this day and night for months now, and maybe he can even convince Ryan to go away, stay in some out of the way airbnb where there are trees around, and stars visible in the night sky. Someplace where breathing doesn’t feel like smog inhalation at best. 

At that moment, Steven pushes the office door open, throwing out another cheerful greeting, closely followed by Ryan, and Shane takes care to keep the frustrated glare from his face. Ryan, for his part, barely manages to keep his face neutral as he catches Shane’s eye; one corner of his mouth gives a little twitch before smoothing, and Shane grits his teeth. Ryan’s eyes twinkle a little harder in Shane’s direction at that.

It’s a long day in the office, a long day of pretending he’s not watching Ryan’s every move, not keeping his hands busy so that they don’t grab him in front of the whole office. A long day of not pretending he isn’t glancing at the clock every three minutes, calculating and recalculating how much longer it is until they can feasibly pack up and go home. 

When he slides back into his desk chair after refilling his mug with his afternoon coffee, Shane sees that Katie has sent him a google calendar update with four and half days blocked off about a month ahead, labelled ‘Shane and Ryan Go Anywhere But The Office’. The details include ‘Steven and Katie will take care of everything’ and ‘do not answer your phone or there will be consequences’ and ‘for the love of god, SLEEP’.

For the first time that day, Shane feels a little crack appear in the frustration that’s been tense over his shoulders for far longer than he can recall, and it’s like a breath of fresh air. His eyes search out Ryan again, and he finds him sitting beside Anthony, their heads leaning in close as they watch a video clip back. Shane pulls up airbnb on his computer, glances up one last time to catch Ryan’s face mid-laugh, and then spends the rest of his day searching for a place off the beaten path. 

He’s got five tabs open with area research when a hand lands on his shoulder, warm and familiar. 

“Hey, big guy. Time for me to take you home.”

Shane looks up to find Ryan gazing down at him, eyes soft. All of sudden, he feels the exhaustion catch up with him, settling over his body like a weighted blanket. 

“Yeah, okay.” He goes without a fight, closing everything down, turning everything off, and sliding his shit back into his bag. Ryan is doing the same while chatting with Katie absently, shooting glances at Shane as he does, but Shane tunes everything out, shrugging into his jacket and pushing in his desk chair.

It’s a little earlier than they usually head home, and traffic isn’t as bad. Ryan must be able to tell that Shane is bone tired because he doesn’t try to pull him into a conversation, not even after they end up at their third red light. Shane lets his head rest against the window, floating along beside Ryan, and it feels a little like this time is suspended, dangling between work and home. It’s blissfully empty of demands, and Shane revels in it. He breathes slowly, deeply, and Ryan finally speaks. 

“Are you hungry? I thought I’d make dinner tonight.”

_“You’re_ going to cook?”

“Fuck you, I can make _some_ things.”

Shane hums. 

They pull into their building and go about the now-normal routine of gathering up their bags and to-go cups and hats before trudging up the steps and letting themselves in. Obi meows at the door when he hears them approaching, and Shane grins. He’d left the house so early this morning that even Obi had been uninterested in being prodded awake for some tummy kisses and face smushing. 

It’s quiet in the apartment, still feels a little like the transition from afternoon to evening is drawing out and stretching with expectation. Bags are dropped, hats are tossed—it’s like a much anticipated exhale. Ryan looks up at him with searching eyes, taking his keys from his fingers and dropping them with his own into the dish on the table nearby before reaching up and grabbing Shane’s jacket to pull it down for him. Shane lets him tug it off him and watches Ryan hang it up before he turns back.

“Long day?”

“You know it was.”

Ryan continues to survey him, seemingly in no rush to get to any specific destination point in the conversation, though he must know how distracted Shane’s been all day. Ryan’s actions played a huge part in what particular type of frustration he’s been dealing with. It’s clear Ryan’s going to let that float unless Shane does something about it, which he knows Ryan enjoys immensely. 

Shane steps closer, slowly, edging in on Ryan until his back is touching the wall of the hallway. His dick needs no introduction, no refresher course, no reminder. Shane leans down and presses his lips to Ryan’s, slow but determined, and feels the warmth that only Ryan’s hands on his chest brings. Shane plucks one of them from his front and presses it to his groin with a huff. “Is this what you wanted? When you sent that video this morning, is this what you wanted?”

“Hell yeah, big guy.” 

“What are you gonna do about it, then?”

“What do you _want_ me to do about it?”

Shane’s brain stutters for a moment, both of them silent aside from the heavy breathing in the space between them. Ryan looks up at Shane, head leaned back against the wall of the entryway, eyes dark and glinting, challenging. 

Shane’s been watching Ryan all day, walking around, talking to coworkers, taking phone calls, drinking coffee, like nothing is wrong, like nothing is out of the ordinary, like he _didn’t_ completely derail his boyfriend this morning with cruel and unusual punishment. 

He thinks of the video from this morning. He thinks of Ryan’s naked skin, his hand on his cock, Shane’s name on his breath as he comes hard in their bed without Shane. 

Shane flips that mental switch again.

“Get on your knees.”

Ryan does.

-:-

Sundays, like for many other Americans, are for grocery shopping. 

It’s a necessary thing to do, but it’s one of the things Ryan likes doing the most with Shane. There’s something sweet about walking down the aisles, putting fruit and chips and milk into a grocery cart, agreeing on some snacks, bickering about others. 

When they get home, Ryan helps Shane put everything away in the kitchen, chucking the last weeks’ uneaten leftovers out. There’s music playing and the sun’s out—Ryan recognizes it as one of those moments he loves so, so much, but knows it will be lost to time, forgotten in favor of milestones and celebrations. 

It feels, though, like it’d be impossible to forget the crinkles by Shane’s eyes or the brightness of his smile, or the exaggerated way he sings along to a playlist curated with songs Ryan doesn’t know but is slowly learning, because the songs remind him of Shane. 

Impossible to forget the way Shane takes Ryan by his waist and pulls him into a dance, the both of them laughing. There’s not nearly enough space for them in the kitchen, but they do it anyway. 

Impossible not to collect this memory as it’s being made and put it in a box among all of his other polaroid moments. 

Late afternoon light washes the walls of their apartment orange. They make dinner together; Ryan helps this time, cutting up vegetables and setting them on baking sheets. Shane mans the stove, stirring rice in a pot. 

When they’re all finished, they eat on the balcony, talking about the silliest things; he watches as Shane wheezes, and Ryan just can’t help but think how lucky he is to have fallen in love with his best friend. 

Afterwards, they opt for popcorn and a movie. Ryan’s curled up into Shane’s side, and Shane’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders, and Ryan feels good. Warm. 

The movie ventures into a silly scene that features a character watching porn, and while it’s a funny scene, it gets Ryan thinking—so much so, he doesn’t particularly pay much attention to the way the movie ends. 

It’s far too early to go to bed, and rather than do so or pick another movie, Shane gets Ryan onto his back on the couch, settled between his legs as he kisses against Ryan’s neck. Ryan settles his hands over Shane’s back underneath his t-shirt, and blinks up at the ceiling. 

It’s not that Ryan’s not into it; he’s still thinking about porn, about what Shane might watch when he’s alone, how he touches himself when Ryan’s not around. 

“Ry, I can hear you thinking,” Shane says, sagging against him. “If you’re not in the mood, you can just tell me.” Shane’s voice is soft as he pulls back, not a trace of hurt. Ryan smiles. 

“It’s not that. I’m always in the mood for you, and you can take that to the bank.” 

Shane shakes his head, smiling. “Okay, so? Tell me.” 

“Tell you?” 

“What you’re thinking.” 

Ryan hums and purses his lips, looking up at Shane for a moment. He’s at ease, hair falling over his forehead, warmth in his cheeks, eyes bright. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, so when Ryan reaches up to touch his face, he’s prickly against his palm. 

“What kind of porn do you watch?” Ryan asks. 

“What?” Shane’s face is somewhat stunned, a little confused, despite his wide smile. 

“What kind of—” 

“I heard what you said,” Shane says. “Why do you want to know that?” 

“Why not? I just—the movie—and we’ve never talked about it. Or, you know. Watched it together.”

“Is that something you want to do?” 

Ryan shrugs, closing his thighs closer to Shane’s hips. “I don’t know. I—I just.” 

Shane’s patient, rubs his hands over Ryan’s chest. He must be able to feel the raucous beat of Ryan’s heart. 

“I was just thinking, I guess. I want to know.” 

“It’s nothing spectacular, Ry. Nothing wildly kinky or anything. It’s just—it depends on my mood.” 

“Tell me about it,” Ryan presses. “I want to know. What do the people look like, what do they do?” 

Shane’s smile goes secretive, curved playful at the edges. “What do you want me to tell you? That they look like us? That sometimes I get off on someone that looks like you railing someone who looks like me? Or the reverse, where someone who looks like me just _ruins_ someone who looks like you?” 

Ryan takes a shuddery breath. “What about girls?” 

“Sometimes. Boobs are great.” 

Ryan smiles, biting down on his lip. “Put something on. I want to watch it with you. And then—and then we can jerk off about it, maybe.” 

Shane levels him with a curious look. A bit like he’s trying to figure Ryan out. Ryan pushes his hips up to meet Shane’s, and Ryan can feel him, a little hard just from talking about it. 

Crowding over Ryan, Shane leans down to kiss him, slow and hot, licking against Ryan’s tongue as their hips drag together. 

Ryan groans, bunching his fingers into Shane’s t-shirt when he settles his hands on Shane’s ribcage. 

“ _Shane_ —don’t distract me,” Ryan breathes. 

“Fine, fine, alright,” Shane huffs, grinning as he gets off of Ryan. He disappears down the hallway, and Ryan sits up on the couch. Shane returns with his laptop. 

“You know,” Shane says as he sits close to Ryan, “you never said what you like to watch.” 

“Oh, you know. The _same_ , I guess. It’s not hard to find jacked dudes fuckin’ skinny white guys.” Ryan elbows Shane playfully.

Shane laughs, as he types on his keyboard. “Honestly, whatever’s hot gets me going,” Shane says. “It’s not necessarily about how the people look. I will admit that I like watching things that remind me of us.” 

Shane clicks around; Ryan watches him, takes in the ease of his features. Shane’s never really shy about anything, but Ryan’s heart is beating out of his chest. After a moment, Shane pulls up a video of a couple that’s homemade, amateurish. He sets the laptop on the coffee table and turns the volume up so they can hear. 

It’s nothing like the staged stuff Ryan watches, and it’s two guys that look nothing like them—they’re both blonde and fairly average looking. The video starts with kissing. The couple doesn’t give off anything artificial, Ryan can admit. They move naturally, and at some points, Ryan can hear them murmuring and laughing while they undress each other. 

“How does this remind you of us?” Ryan asks, looking over at Shane, while Shane looks at the screen. 

“You get loud like the one on the bottom.” 

“What?”

“And it’s clear they like each other. They have a good vibe.” 

“Vibe? You like their vibe?” 

“I like that they like each other. It makes the watching experience better when it’s clear that they’re attracted to each other and not just sexually compatible because the plug matches the receptacle.” 

Ryan takes a moment to process, turning his attention back to the screen; one of the men makes his way down the other’s body, kissing and kissing and kissing, and—

“You like that they have chemistry,” Ryan says, feeling his body heat up when the first man starts blowing the second. He’s noisy about it, and Ryan's body reacts, hardening in his pants. “Dude, you’re so fuckin’—you’re soft as hell, who even are you?” 

Shane’s laugh is breathy and Ryan inhales, shaky and stuttered as he pressed his palm along the hard line of his cock. He shoves his hand down the front of his shorts and closes his fingers around himself. It isn’t until the one getting the blowjob picks up his phone, and the sound of a camera shutter goes off, that the lightbulb above Ryan’s head flashes bright. 

Ryan looks over at Shane, who’s got his hand under the waistband of his pants, too, stroking himself. 

“Cameras?” Ryan asks, nearly gasping.

“Hmm?” Shane looks over at him. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes seem hazy. Ryan wants to climb onto him and devour him. 

“Cameras. Pictures. Is that—do you want that?” Ryan says, eyes shifting from Shane's face down to his lap. “Let me see.” 

Shane obeys, sliding his pants down his hips. His cock is hard, wet and leaking at the tip. Ryan wants to get on his knees and choke on it, but there’s supposed to be a point to this. 

Just then, the scene on the video changes, and the on-screen couple are fucking earnestly now; Ryan understands what Shane means about the vibe. It’s sex, yeah, but the lighting leaves much to be desired, and the mic of whatever’s recording them isn’t the greatest, yet there’s something _enchanting_ about it. This video is a lot better than what Ryan usually watches. Sure, one of the dudes is definitely loud about the way he’s being fucked, quite possibly like Ryan is when he’s face down against the mattress, fingers gripping bed sheets. Ryan watches the screen as the other man presses both his hands against the first man’s back, forcing the curve of his spine. There isn’t any dirty talk, but the bed creaks, and the headboard knocks, and Ryan's breathing is harsh underneath it all.

Ryan can hear the wet sound of Shane jerking himself off, but he doesn’t take his attention away from the screen when he asks, “Do you want to take pictures of me, babe?”

Shane’s voice comes, breathy and raw, when he says, “Yeah.” 

Ryan files that away into the carefully categorized binder he’s been mentally building about Shane. Months ago, the kinks tab was a paragraph on a page, but now, Ryan’s got citations and footnotes, sections that are highlighted and underlined. There’s so much more to Shane than he’d originally thought. 

Of course, with this new little nugget of information, Ryan thinks he’d like to lay underneath Shane, with Shane’s cock fucking him deep as he watches Ryan through a camera lens of a polaroid camera. He wonders if Shane would make him shake the photo until it developed. He wonders what Shane would do with the photos, if there will be a saucy shoe-box hidden in their closet or in a drawer or underneath their bed that’s filled to the brim with polaroids of Ryan out of his mind. 

Or maybe while Ryan is on his knees as he sucks Shane off, looking up to see the camera of Shane's iPhone, and Shane’s got his sound turned on so Ryan can hear every time he takes a photo. He wonders if Shane might fuck around with portrait mode.

Ryan would like it. He likes the attention after all, and he would take some clandestine pleasure knowing Shane's walking around carrying photos of him looking absolutely wrecked, debauched. 

One of the men comes on screen, and instead of finishing himself off, Ryan gets off the couch and shoulders himself between Shane's spread knees. He tugs Shane’s pants off the rest of the way.

“Whatcha doin’?” Shane asks, though he takes his hand away from himself, reaching to touch his thumb over Ryan's bottom lip. 

“Just want you in my mouth real bad,” Ryan says, setting his left hand on Shane's thigh, curling the fingers of his right hand around Shane's cock. He strokes slowly, thumbing at the slit to smear Shane’s pre-come; there’s a striking jolt of heat low in Ryan’s belly when he hears Shane’s hitched breath. 

“Oh, yeah?” Shane's cock twitches in Ryan's hand. “Was it about the pictures?” Shane asks. “You text me pictures of your dick all the time now, Ry.” 

Ryan hums, licking a long stripe along the length of Shane’s cock. He tastes like salty bitterness, and Ryan loves it, the headiness; he’ll chase that taste until Shane comes and it’s insanely concentrated, pooling in his mouth. “Yeah, but it’s different. You’re not in the middle of fucking me in those pictures. Those are like—snacks. This is—” Ryan smacks his lips in quick succession, and Shane laughs, leaning back against the couch. “Tasty.” 

“We can talk about it later, when my cock isn’t down your throat,” Shane says, curling his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

“Oh?” Ryan says, proceeding to take Shane as far as he can. He’s gotten better, gotten used to the feeling of Shane obstructing his airway, Shane's hand pressing lightly against the back of his head. 

This one is messy; he can’t help himself as he sucks on Shane's cock, noisy with the way he hums and moans, handling Shane's balls with his left hand as he strokes the length of Shane's cock he can’t fit into his mouth. Saliva drips from his mouth, mixes with the precome Shane leaks. 

“Fuck, Ryan, fuck,” Shane gasps, and it’s a warning of sorts, but it isn’t like Ryan’s going to stop, not when he wants to taste Shane’s come so bad. If he could talk, he would. He’d tell Shane that he’d want photos of this, of Ryan going insane from giving head, of Ryan loving it so much, desperate for it. He’d tell Shane he’d want to see what he looks like when Shane comes inside his mouth. 

Shane’s hips jolt then, and Ryan's mouth floods. Shane breathes his name, and Ryan swallows what he can, pulling off and licking the rest clean as Shane softens in his grip.

Listless, Shane sags against the couch, and Ryan sits back onto his heels, looking up at Shane's flushed face, his dopey smile. 

Ryan’s got a garden in his chest, sunflowers and daisies tucked behind his heart at the sight of him. 

“Jesus, Ryan. Did you have that planned?” Shane says, rubbing his face with his hand, combing fingers through his hair.

“No, I just—I wanted to,” Ryan says, kissing Shane’s knee before standing and climbing on top of Shane’s lap.

“What do you want?” Shane asks, hands easy over Ryan's thighs as Ryan leans in for a kiss. 

“I want you to take your time, and lay me out, and get me real loud,” Ryan whispers. “Want you to fuck me real hard so I’ll feel it tomorrow.” 

“Ryan, God,” Shane breathes. “I feel like I’ve created a monster.”

Grinning, Ryan kisses Shane once. “Guess that makes _you_ the monster-fucker.” 

-:-

“I have a question,” Ryan pipes up after approximately forty minutes of them driving in companionable silence, Shane’s favorite road trip playlist humming over the speakers. Ryan twiddles the volume dial, and it dies away. All that’s left is the gently lulling sound of the wheels speeding over asphalt as Shane takes them farther and farther from LA. 

“Mmm?” Shane intones, glancing over at Ryan in the passenger seat. He’s pushed his seat all the way back on its track and has his sneakers propped on the dash, knees bent.

“Have you thought any more about watching me with another person?”

Shane’s eyebrows edge up closer to his hair. It’s been literal months since that conversation. 

“Have _you?”_

“You know what I mean.” Ryan rolls his eyes, but meets Shane’s gaze again momentarily before Shane has to look back at the road. 

“Not specifically. Have I thought about it broadly? Yeah. What are you really asking here, Ry?”

Ryan pauses, formulating. “I don’t really know, I guess. I’m just still… trying to figure out the why. And definitely the how.”

“We both know I like looking at you, Ry. That’s—I wanna… see you like I get to see you, but from the outside. If that makes sense.”

“You’ve watched me jerk off before.”

“It’s not… the same.”

Ryan hums. “And the how?”

“Meaning?”

“What’s off the table? Hypothetically.”

Shane thinks. A red car passes, travelling in the opposite direction. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” The surprise in Ryan’s voice is obvious.

“Nothing. You can do whatever you like.” Ryan is still silent, and Shane glances over again to see him gobsmacked, clearly not having expected such a carte blanche. “I mean as long as you’re safe, obviously. I trust you to not put yourself, or me, in any danger. If I didn’t trust you, Ry, we wouldn’t be doing this. We probably wouldn’t even be together in the first place.”

Greens and blues and browns whip past outside, and Shane lets Ryan marinate in that. 

“You would let some guy fuck me? Come all over me?”

“If that’s what you want, yeah. I’ve got no problem with it. Safe, sane, and consensual, etcetera.”

The air in the car is loaded, heavy with potential. Shane doesn’t try to steer it his way or any other—he just continues to let Ryan ponder. The quiet stretches on and on, and eventually, they're more than halfway to their rental. 

Ryan must reach some sort of conclusion because he says, “I don’t think I actually want to, like, round _all_ the bases with someone else.” He pauses. “Okay?”

It’s tentative, and Shane gets the urge to lean into the ghoul boys dynamic of giving him shit—“I thought you said you’d do anything I wanted, Ry!”—but that sort of ribbing has the potential to throw them completely sideways in terms of communication, so he doesn’t. It’s no small request to ask your boyfriend to get it on with someone else while you’re close enough to watch.

“Of _course_ that’s okay, Ry. I’m not, like, _forcing_ you, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—actually please just, promise me now, okay, that you won’t do anything you’re not totally on board with just because you think _I_ want it. That’s not okay with me. It’ll never be okay with me.”

There's a beat, and they both glance over the center console at the same time.

“Promise,” Ryan says on a long breath out, relief evident in the comparative slope of his shoulders. 

“C’mere.” Shane extends his hand over the space between their seats, and Ryan immediately takes it, pulling gently and threading their fingers together until his own hand rests against his thigh, palm up with Shane’s nestled on top. “Are you still thinking?”

“Mmm,” Ryan hums. 

The sun starts its descent in the western sky behind them, and shadows start to lengthen, pale and then darker as the time passes. 

“So in your head…” Ryan starts again. Shane gives his hand a tiny squeeze, and Ryan puffs out a gentle laugh. “In your head, is this other person a man or a woman?”

“Ry—”

“I know you’re going to say it should be my choice. I know. But you just made me promise not to do anything I don’t want to do, so when I ask you these questions, just know I’m taking the answers under advisement and not as a mandate, okay? Please? Just answer so I have a better picture of what it looks like in your head.”

Shane shakes his head, realizing his mistake. “You’re right. Okay.”

“So… Man or woman?”

“Man.”

“Where is this happening?”

“I don’t—it’s not always the same, it's… sometimes it’s on a couch, sometimes it's in our bed, sometimes it’s in an alleyway. Nothing specific.”

“Wow, you really have a choose-your-own-adventure situation going, don’t you?” Ryan quips. 

“A man needs options, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you.”

He doesn’t, and then it’s time to turn off the main road onto gravel, and Shane has to concentrate in the falling darkness. He guides them around curves slowly, and eventually a cabin with a large deck comes into view. 

The whole place has a rustic sort of vibe, and Shane follows after Ryan, who’s carrying their bags up the front steps. Shane drops their groceries on the counter, stretching his back while Ryan brings in the rest of their stuff. The conversation and the cooking are easy, as usual, and it’s not until Shane’s reclining in a deck chair out back with a tumbler of alcohol in his hand that Ryan dives in again. 

He’s like a dog with a bone sometimes, Shane thinks. 

“And the making me beg part? What does that entail?” he asks.

Shane chokes on his drink a little, nearly inhaling it. Once he’s settled again, sipped his drink and cleared his throat, he fixes Ryan with a heavy look, cautionary.

“A little making you wait for it, a splash of denial. A skoosh of tying you down, maybe.”

Ryan snorts. “What the fuck is a skoosh?”

_“That’s_ the part you got hung up on?”

“Fine.” Ryan wobbles his head a little. “Tie me down to what? A bed?”

Shane feels his gaze get heavier, and he sees Ryan notice the shift.

“Yeah.” Shane lets that sit for a minute debating on whether or not to elaborate, but considering Ryan’s been poking and prodding this particular spot on and off all day, Shane can guess that talking is what he wants Shane to be doing. “Yeah, with rope. Make it so you can’t move. Or stop me. Or go faster—you’re so impatient sometimes.”

Ryan blinks, giving away little, for once. “Wow. This one scenario is like a matryoshka situation of kinks for you, isn’t it? Voyeurism, possessiveness, orgasm denial, bondage. You really know how to round out an experience.”

“Kink connoisseur. Sir, may I suggest the orgasm denial from 2020? Excellent vintage. It pairs very well with the rope bondage, and accentuates the begging undertone. Finishing top notes are very subtle flushed frustration and backtalk, and the bottom notes are… well, soreness, understandably.”

Ryan throws back his head to laugh, and Shane takes in the line of his throat, feeling an idea flower before his very eyes. 

“If you let this someone else kiss your neck, make sure they leave a mark.”

Ryan slowly stills under the atmospheric weight again. “Okay,” he eventually answers, eyeing Shane before he continues. “I saw a hardware store in town when we drove through.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It ends up being as simple as that. 

The next day, once Ryan’s run his fingertips over every spool of rope at least twice, Shane makes him take his choice up to the counter to pay for it himself. Ryan glares as he goes. 

“You alright, Ry?” Shane asks when they pull out of the parking lot. 

“I’m fine, you dick.” Ryan glows like the setting sun and throws the smooth loops of rope at Shane's head. 

-:-

When Ryan gets back from his morning run, Shane still has his head tucked into the pillow, hair a disaster and face creased from the pillowcase. He snuffles a bit as Ryan slinks into the en-suite for a shower, but remains asleep. 

Ryan’s heart is still beating quickly as he strips, dropping running shorts to the tiled floor. The run was good, helped him work out some nervous energy. All of yesterday, from the drive out to the minute he and Shane had fallen asleep, nestled together like little orecchiette, had been tense with expectant—something. Something that made his stomach tighten and hold with bated breath. 

Ryan needed to make a decision; that’s what it felt like. It felt like Shane wasn’t going to really set something so potentially dangerous to them in motion without Ryan being the one to take the first definitive step. 

They’d bought the rope. But now it was time to make an actionable plan to get this ball rolling for Shane. 

When he wanders out of the bathroom, followed by a thick plume of steam, using his towel to wipe down his still dripping torso, Shane is awake but still horizontal and eyeing all the naked skin Ryan’s put on offer for him.

“Did you have any plans for tomorrow?” Ryan asks, continuing to dry himself off.

“Not in particular, no,” Shane answers, voice rough and crackly, hair like a dishevelled cockatoo. 

“Okay. Tonight, then. I want to do this tonight.”

Shane looks a little like Ryan has finally managed to catch him off guard, and Ryan kinda wants to fist pump about it. With great restraint, he does not. 

“Are we in a rush?”

“No,” Ryan starts, throwing the damp towel over the end of the bed, “but we’ve been _not rushing_ about it for months now, and we’ve finally got the chance to do something now that we aren’t in LA.” Ryan fixes him with a pointed look before rifling around for fresh sweats. Shane stays silent. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just thought that since we bought the rope you want to truss me up with, you might be ready to actually…” Ryan makes a flapping gesture.

Shane snorts, pauses, and then says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. If you’re good, then I’m good.” Shane blinks sleepily, and Ryan spots pink starting to bloom on his pale cheeks. Ryan thinks he kind of likes being able to get Shane like this.

“Good,” Ryan says with finality, patting the vague lump under the covers in the region of Shane’s skinny ass. “I’m going to start breakfast. Shower and meet me in the kitchen—we’ve got some planning to do.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Shane gives him a lazy salute before stretching slowly, groaning as his joints pop.

“And while you're in there,” Ryan presses, pulling a tshirt on, “think about what you want this to look like, because I’m going to be taking notes. Be _specific.”_

He hears Shane’s exasperated sigh as he scoots out the door. 

True to his word, by the time Shane surfaces fresh from the shower, Ryan has coffee brewed, bacon and toast on plates, and is about to divvy up scrambled eggs. There’s a notepad ready, pen slanted across the blank paper at an angle. Shane dips his head to press a kiss to the side of Ryan’s neck before doctoring their mugs. 

They sit across from each other at the little dining room table, ankles tangled. It’s not until Shane gets up to refill their mugs that Ryan pulls the notepad toward himself and holds the pen ready for any details he might need to remember.

“Alright, big guy. From the top.”

-:-

They ride into town together, seeing as they only have one set of wheels at their disposal, but it won’t matter anyway because they’ll be going home together. It’s quiet but not uncomfortable. Shane only double checks that Ryan is okay with actually going through with this plan once, after they’ve pulled into the parking lot and he’s cut the ignition.

“You’re positive?” Shane presses his hand to Ryan’s thigh over the center console.

“Yes.” Ryan nods with what he hopes is finality. “Now be a good boy and wait fifteen minutes before you come in.”

Shane snorts. When Ryan goes to open the passenger side door to climb out, he feels Shane’s hand wrap around his bicep, bringing him back in. Craned across the car, Shane pulls him in close, reaching to get a hand on the back of Ryan’s head and cementing them together at the lips. There’s no hesitation; Shane immediately shifts to open his mouth, turning it raw and filthy, and Ryan follows helplessly. Shane only releases him after a few minutes, and Ryan knows he himself is just as pink cheeked, bright eyed, and gasping as Shane is.

“Godspeed,” he intones, giving Ryan a two-fingered salute and a lopsided but wry grin as he lets him go. 

Ryan shakes himself out on his walk across the parking lot, sneakers crunching over errant gravel, and takes a breath before pushing the door open. 

The bar looks midrange, fairly clean, and there’s enough people here that the risk of not finding an attractive dude to mack on is fairly low. All odds considered, their biggest risk factor might be being recognized by their not-yet-chosen suitor. 

Ryan sidles up to the counter and gets the attention of the barman, letting his eyes slide over the nearby patrons vaguely. He clocks at least three dudes that seem to be without a posse, but one is ruled out upon second glance—he reminds Ryan too strongly of an ex. The other two, however, are still in the running as he places his drink order and turns, leaning back against the long portion of the L-shaped bar top and surveying the crowd. He’s not usually so methodical and unfeeling, but he’s got a job to do, kind of. He’s got a to-do list of sorts. 

His perusal leads to catching a few glances, and he sends up a prayer that at least some of men here are on the lookout for someone whose arms are on such prominent display. Ryan concentrates on sending out the right vibes, because that is totally a thing, and turns back to slide onto one of the stools.

As Ryan takes a swig of his drink, he sees one of the first guys he spotted make a move like he might be coming over, but he instead takes the pool table area at a curve and heads for the bathrooms without a backwards glance. Ryan bites his lip. In LA, he gets asked out a decent amount—he still does even though he’s been with Shane for almost a year now. He’s hoping that whatever about him makes people look twice in the big city works here as well.

For the first time all night, Ryan feels a pang of something that isn’t excitement in his gut. He swipes the condensation down his glass in neat thumb strokes, letting the water pool on the cardboard coaster beneath it. 

Luckily, a few minutes later, someone speaks up from behind him.

“Is this seat taken?”

Ryan fights the urge to let his face morph into an overly pleased grin and looks over his shoulder. It’s one of the guys he’d seen in the crowd. He’s not as tall as Shane, but who _is,_ really?

“No, go ahead,” Ryan answers, sticking out his hand once the guy settles, and shifting in his seat to angle his knees more in the new guy’s direction. “Ryan.”

“Connor.” The other guy takes it and lingers just long enough that Ryan thinks he probably has a fair shot at this one, depending on what Connor is looking for tonight. If it’s love, then this’ll be a bust, but if it’s not? Well. Shane might get his show. 

“Here for business or pleasure?” Connor asks. Straight to the chase, then. 

Ryan’s got to find ways to slow this guy down—Shane’s not even in the building yet, and though pacing never came up in any of their conversations, Ryan suspects that Shane will want to see some of the lead up to the main event. The man likes himself a story, after all, and they _did_ plan out an entire night of voyeurism for him.

“Pleasure, I suppose.” Ryan lifts his tumbler to take another sip, flicking his eyes over Connor’s shoulders in a way he knows Connor would have to be blind not to see. 

“Oh?” Connor prompts, hailing the barman and snagging a drink.

“Weekend away. I work too much. Needed a break,” Ryan lays the foundation.

“Ah,” he nods. “Let loose a little?” Ryan hums. “So I take it you don’t want to talk about work, then?”

Ryan throws back his head in a laugh, rubbing his belly. “Not at all.” 

It’s then that Ryan sees the shape of Shane slide onto a stool in the corner, near the end of the short leg of the L. He keeps his eyes on Connor with a steely determination, because all he really wants to do is catch Shane’s eye and gauge how happy he is with what Ryan’s managed to catch in the allotted time frame. But he doesn’t want to give Connor a reason to look at Shane—he didn’t see any recognition in Connor’s eyes, anything that might have belayed the fact that Ryan’s identity was perhaps known, evenly vaguely, but whenever Shane and Ryan are side by side, there’s always a higher probability of someone saying, “Oh, you guys are from that YouTube show, right?” which would put a perfectly good, half-executed night down without anesthesia. 

So, Ryan leans forward, knocks his knees with Connor’s, and half-listens to him ramble about hikes in the area, in case Ryan is interested in getting out into nature while he’s here. It’s less about the conversation, because this guy seems content with Ryan contributing about half as much as he does, and more about sending the right signals, more about letting his eyes trace the right parts in a way that says, very clearly yet without words, _I am interested._

When Ryan tips the last sip of his second drink back, Connor pausing to do the same, Ryan takes the plunge, touching three fingers to the inside of Connor’s closest knee. “I’m gonna get some air.”

“I’ll join you.” It’s easy, easier than Ryan thought it would be.

Odd, still, because as he gets up, it’s not Shane’s hand on his arm, his back. It’s not Shane following him through the crowd, humid and hot, out the front door into the dark night. The ingrained instinct welling up in Ryan that screams this isn’t right, this isn’t good, cheating is _bad_ and _wrong_ is foreign because Ryan has never really found himself in a situation like this, with the romantic—or sexual—attention of someone who isn’t his significant other, not where he’s playing into it, not where he’s encouraging it. 

But—

This _is_ okay. Shane actively wants to see Ryan kiss this dude, wants to see his hands on Ryan in places that only Shane has touched in the last year. So, Ryan leads them off to the right, and Connor falls into step beside him easily. 

“You don’t really strike me as a smoker, so, am I right in thinking we’re out here for a different reason?”

The atmosphere is different, there’s no background bar noise so it’s hard to be sure, but Ryan thinks his voice has dropped a bit, which is another good sign that this is going to go fine. 

“You’d be correct,” Ryan answers, turning the corner and stepping into the half-shadow at the side of the building. Farther down, there’s a dumpster, and behind that, an old chain link fence that’s seen better days. They aren’t going that far, though. Ryan slows his steps, looking up at the dark sky and sending another quick prayer heaven-side. 

His one and only hang up about this whole thing had been not being up front with whoever they managed to hook; even though people left others hanging, so to speak, all the time, it felt a little dishonest not to tell the guy, “Hey, so my boyfriend who I love very much is actually over in that car watching us, and I’m gonna ask you to stop somewhere between you kissing me and getting me partially naked in this back alley, because even though he’d be fine with things going a lot farther than that, it’s not something I’m really down for at this juncture, back alley or not, and you’re probably gonna leave frustrated.”

But it’s also within everyone’s right to say stop at any time, so, Ryan puts the thought out of his head and leans his shoulders back against the brick wall. Connor follows, tilting his head minutely and surveying Ryan with darker eyes. 

“Am I also correct in assuming that it would be okay to kiss you? Cause that’s the vibe I’m getting.”

“You’re on a winning streak,” Ryan answers, grinning. He tries to keep his ears perked for the sound of Shane following them out, or the car door closing, but he hasn’t heard anything.

“You can say that again.” Connor steps forward and he leans in, pressing his lips to Ryan’s tentatively.

It doesn’t stay hesitant. Before long, Ryan’s running his hands up the back of Connor’s arms, pulling him in a little closer, breathing through his nose and letting his thoughts slow to a sluggish crawl. It’s familiar, but it’s different, in a way that thrills him more than he thought it would. When he feels Connor’s hand on his jaw, right where he normally feels Shane’s touch, he inhales audibly and hopes Shane is out there watching this. 

It goes faster than he expects, but still slow enough that he’s sure Shane is getting his fill. Connor’s hands are light at first, and then more purposeful, on his neck, his shoulders, his side. He steps closer eventually, presses his chest closer to Ryan, pushing him a tad more firmly against the brick at Ryan’s back. Ryan’s heartbeat thumps rapidly in this chest, in his veins, in his head, and it’s thrilling. 

Ryan makes a decision and reaches up with one hand, getting his fingers into Connor’s hair and fisting his other hand in the fabric of his shirt between them.

“Yeah,” Connor breathes on a rare moment where they pull back to gasp in oxygen, pressing even closer with his lower half and aligning their hips. Ryan gasps again, and a beat later, Connor dives back in, taking Ryan’s lips again with a bit more fire. He’s hard against Ryan, and Ryan’s just… enjoying that fact. 

Ryan can’t help himself anymore; he’s got to know that this scene isn’t falling flat. He tips his head back and to the side, and Connor takes the hint, lips blazing down the curve of Ryan’s jaw and continuing down the side of his throat. 

When Ryan opens his eyes and searches out the correct windshield, there’s a moment where everything lines up. Shane _is_ there, face open and slack with want, eyes locked on them with such focus that Ryan can’t remember the last time he’d seen Shane so unbothered by any of his surroundings. The zing of being pinned under that gaze combines with Connor’s exquisite timing as he latches into Ryan’s throat and sucks, pulling a particular keening noise from Ryan that he hadn’t even been aware he could make up until that moment. 

Ryan grinds forward, the movement just as out of his control as the noise was, thinks back to Shane’s request— _“If you let this someone else kiss your neck, make sure they leave a mark”—_ and groans, pressing against the back of Connor’s head. 

-:-

Shane must be dead. 

There is no way he’s supposed to get what he wants like this without some major soul bargaining; at the very least, he’s indebted to a demon and is going to have to pay back all this delicious pleasure in full, plus interest. That makes it sound as though he’s going to have to fuck a demon, and Shane’s really not interested in working his way down _that_ particular rabbithole right now, what with Ryan’s current preoccupation.

From the moment he slides into the driver’s seat of their car, he’s entranced. It’s not until after he’s watched Ryan lead this guy down the side of the building a bit, after he’s watched the guy step closer in a way that can only mean that Ryan’s definitely succeeded in the solo mission part of this night, after their lips finally touch for the first time that Shane realizes he isn’t breathing. He forces his lungs to operate, and keeps his eyes on the pair across the parking lot as his head spins a little.

The guy touches Ryan’s face right where Shane usually does, and Shane burns with something that isn’t jealousy but licks just as hot up his chest. 

Ryan’s hand sinks into the hair at the back of the guy’s head, and he sees the fabric across his back get tighter as Ryan clutches at it from the front. Shane knows without being close enough to really see for sure that Ryan must be getting worked up by now. His suspicions are confirmed when he sees them rock together at the hips. Ryan tilts his head back, and Shane feels the heat pulse again, watching as the guy makes his way down Ryan’s neck and hoping that Ryan remembers to get at least one lasting mark for Shane to revel in later, a reminder of what he’s watching unfold right now, a reminder that Ryan actually Did This. For him.

Ryan opens his eyes and searches out Shane for the first time since arriving, and Shane nearly dislodges the steering wheel with the force of his literal knee jerk reaction.

Ryan’s done an exceptional job of staying focused all night, ignoring Shane’s presence in a way that Shane has never seen him capable of before. Ryan, bless him, has spent the last however many years of their friendship always looking to his right, up at Shane with a grin or a high five, always looking to see if a bit landed, if Shane’s gonna play along, if Shane thinks Ryan is funny.

Well, by golly, is Shane mesmerized now. The car next to him could explode, and he’s not sure he’d be able to look away for more than a cursory glance. 

Shane watches as Ryan’s mouth drops open, and he wishes desperately that he could hear what’s going on, feel the scrape of Ryan’s five o’clock shadow, and he shudders. But he’ll get his later—he’ll get _all_ of his later. 

The other guy’s shoulders shift, and his arms move in a more intentional way, and Shane nearly chokes when he realizes that it looks like he’s groping Ryan. Ryan’s head thunks back again, this time with enough force to make his hair shudder in the pale half-light, and Shane has to shift, glance to the ceiling, and breathe. 

The sound of his weight moving against the leather seats for the first time and the creak of his joints is deafening in the enclosed space, and it’s like Ryan hears it. When Shane looks down again, there’s a bit more space between the two of them, and Ryan is clearly breathing hard, palm flat against the guy’s chest like he might be pressing him away with just enough force to convey a message. 

Shane watches raptly, knowing that this signals the denouement of their excursion, and hoping to soak up every frame of the visual before it disappears like smoke into the ether right before his eyes. 

The guy steps back, and he and Ryan continue chatting, Ryan reaching up to run a hand through his hair and then down to wipe his hands on the thighs of his jeans. He sees Ryan nod, laugh genuinely, and make a vague gesture with his hand that Shane has no interpretation for. The guy bobs his head and swipes his hand down the side of his face, but he doesn’t seem upset, whatever Ryan said. They chat for another minute before the guy starts back in the direction of the bar entrance, and Ryan sags against the wall behind him once he’s gone. 

Shane leans forward, another deafening shift, and watches carefully for any signs of, well, anything possibly amiss. 

All Ryan does is breathe, stretch his neck from side to side, and breathe some more. Then, once he’s gathered himself, he stands to his full height again and makes his way over to the car. Shane unlocks it from his side panel, and Ryan slides in smoothly.

There’s an unreadable energy about him, one Shane’s never experienced before, but it doesn’t seem to be bad, so he turns the ignition and sits there a moment. When he finally looks over at Ryan, he’s got a wide grin on his flushed face. That’s as much confirmation as he needs, so Shane glances around and pulls out of the parking spot, turning onto the road back to their rental.

“Your face is a black hole,” Ryan says, teeth white in the darkness of the night.

“What?” Shane looks at Ryan for a handful of seconds before turning his attention back to the road. Ryan is still staring at him—he can feel it burning the side of his face, and he’s suddenly very aware of the steering wheel in his grip. It’s not normally _him_ driving.

Shane shifts in his seat, sitting up taller and pulling his shoulders back like his momma taught him, and suppresses the urge to keep glancing over at Ryan. He lets his right hand take over command of the wheel and lets the fingers of the left hand ghost over his chin, hoping it will keep him focused.

“Hey,” Ryan says quietly. 

“Yeah, babe?” Shane wonders, not taking his eyes off the road. Ryan keeps his seatbelt on, but he leans over, touching his palm to Shane’s shoulder. 

Shane knows Ryan’s looking for approval here, looking to find out how well he did, and Shane is decidedly not ready to play those cards yet. Not until they can do the most damage, so to speak. A moment when Ryan is least expecting it, perhaps.

“Nevermind,” Ryan mumbles. It takes everything Shane has to keep his eyes on the road and not crumble. Ryan turns to look outside of his window, keeping his hand on Shane’s shoulder. Everything’s so dark, and it rushes past them, shadowed and secret. 

It feels like it’s a long, long time before Shane pulls into the driveway. 

“Come on, Ry,” he says gently, turning the car off and getting out. 

Ryan unbuckles himself and opens the car door. Shane’s there, taking his hand and leading him inside.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Ryan stands in the entryway, looking up at Shane. He wrings his hands in front of him; Shane takes in a deep breath and steps forward. 

Shane has to steel himself; it’s exhilarating, knowing someone’s gotten their hands on Ryan, has left a mark right where he can see it. It’s a wine-stain right there on Ryan’s throat, boastful and bright, despite Ryan’s flush. 

“Shane?” Ryan says, softly. He blinks, biting down on his lip. Shane touches his fingers to Ryan’s chin tilting his head back, and Ryan sucks in a sharp breath. All Shane does for a moment is look at it; it incites a thrill in Shane, heat dripping down his spine, building low in his belly. He raises his other hand and touches the tip of his index finger to the mark; he presses, and Ryan moans. Shane threads his fingers through Ryan’s hair. 

When Ryan tries to lower his head, Shane keeps him there, clutching his fingers together.

“I’m not done,” Shane says, voice sharp. 

Ryan swallows hard. Shane looks at Ryan’s face, the part of his lips, how hard he’s breathing already. 

“You remember the color system?” Shane says gently, letting go of Ryan’s hair and setting both of his hands on Ryan’s waist. Ryan nods. 

“You think we’re gonna need that this time?” he asks. 

Shane lets a beat of silence well up between them, thick and anticipatory. “Yeah, I really do. Tell me the colors.” 

“Red, yellow, green,” Ryan whispers, licking his lips. His eyes are hazy, glassy. 

“What color are you now, baby?” 

“Green.” 

“Good,” Shane says. “Go get your rope. Take off all your clothes and lay down on the bed.”

Ryan nods again, taking in a deep breath. “Kiss me first. Please?” 

Shane draws Ryan close, leaning in to kiss him, catching his lips gently, listening to the soft sigh Ryan makes. It sinks into Shane’s skin, settles hot between sinews and veins, seeping through his bones and mixing with his marrow. 

For a moment, Shane backs Ryan up against the wall just like he’d seen that guy do not an hour before, and Ryan huffs from the force of it, grasping his hands against Shane’s shoulders. Shane gives Ryan what he wants, kissing him for all he’s worth, wicked tongue and sharp teeth, eliciting the kinds of sounds that make Shane want to tear Ryan’s clothes off and just have him right there against the wall. 

Ryan hitches a leg up over Shane’s hip, grinding his hips against Shane’s—

Shane steps back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Rope. Clothes. Go.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ryan says. 

“Color?”

“Still green,” Ryan breathes. “I want this, Shane. I want you to—I want—I—” 

“I know,” Shane says, drawing Ryan close again, kissing his temple. “Go get started. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

-:-

With shaky hands, Ryan pulls the rope out of the shopping bag sitting next to their bags in the corner. He runs his fingers over it, revels in the soft silkiness of the rope’s threads. He remembers waking up in the middle of the night, finding Shane in the living room. The TV had been playing on low, strands of rope lying over Shane’s lap as he practiced tying the knots Ryan will have around his wrists in the next moment. He remembers Shane’s voice, so gentle, saying, “I wanna get this right. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Even in the midst of the ache in his belly, the heat buzzing underneath his skin, the dizziness Ryan feels knowing that the night is going to end in unimaginable pleasure, there’s that garden again, right there in his chest, bursting with dahlias and peonies. 

Ryan sets the bundled rope on the bedspread. He kicks off his shoes and pulls off his socks. He unbuttons his shirt with shaky fingers, and makes quick work of his jeans. He steps out of the puddle of his pants and underwear, climbing onto the bed, settling in the middle, head lying against the pillow. His heart is rioting in his chest, and his stomach swoops with anticipation, his eyes looking towards the doorway, waiting for Shane to walk in. 

His cock sits hard against his belly, already wet and dripping; he doesn’t dare touch himself. Shane hadn’t given him that specific instruction, but he can already hear Shane’s, “ _Did I say you could_?” Just the thought makes him smile. 

Shane walks in then, holding a couple bottles of water in one hand, his phone in the other. Ryan stays quiet, still, laying on the bed, as Shane wanders around the room without paying him any mind; Shane sets the water on the nightstand, but keeps his phone. The lack of attention makes Ryan antsy, wiggling his toes and touching his fingers to the pillows. 

Standing at the edge of the bed, Shane looks at him. 

“I know we didn’t talk about this—but.” Shane looks at him, at all of him, and Ryan tries not to squirm as he’s so meticulously scrutinized. 

“But what?” Ryan asks, leaning up on his forearms. 

“Is it too much if I asked for a photo? Just—of you right now. And maybe another one later.” 

Ryan swallows, taking in a shaky breath as he nods, thinking back to that video Shane had pulled up on the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Shane raises up his hand, focusing on Ryan. Ryan, in a sudden burst of shyness, turns his head at the very last moment. He doesn’t know what the picture looks like, but the sound of the camera shutter makes Ryan shiver, lowering himself back down against the mattress. 

“Can I see it?” Ryan asks. 

“Not yet,” Shane answers softly.

Ryan watches as Shane drops his phone to the bed, picking up the bundle of rope, touching it, like Ryan had just a moment before, mesmerized by the metaphorical weight of it. 

Ryan’s breath sticks in the back of his throat, and he can feel his cock twitch at the sight of Shane, standing tall, measuring out lengths of rope, fully dressed while Ryan’s naked. Shane unspools the rope. From his pocket, he draws out a pocket knife and slices through the rope. 

Shane starts with Ryan’s left hand, drawing gentle fingers along the length of Ryan’s forearm, before grasping his wrist, and laying it against the pillow. Without being asked, Ryan does the same with his right hand. Shane ties the rope around Ryan’s wrist, tying a gentle knot before adorning him to the bed frame. All Ryan can hear is the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears. 

Shane rounds the bed and does the same to Ryan’s right wrist. Ryan tests his binds, wrapping his hands around the small give of rope and tugging. He’s securely bound, and a sharp spike strikes his belly, hot and searing. Ryan arches his back, helpless to the feeling. 

“Look at you, sweetheart,” Shane murmurs from the bedside. 

“Shane, please,” Ryan breathes, tugging on the ropes again. 

“You’re always so wound up, Ry.” Shane touches his hand to Ryan’s chest, fingers brushing over Ryan’s nipples and Ryan sucks in a shaky breath, his stomach tense as Shane’s hand drifts lower, stopping just above where Ryan’s cock lays, twitching and wet. “Color?” 

“Green, fuck, I’m so green,” Ryan pants, drawing his knees up. 

“Good.” 

At the end of the bed, Ryan watches as Shane undresses. And God, he takes his time with it. 

First, Shane undoes the clasp of his watch, setting it on the dresser. He runs his fingers through his hair, and Ryan’s eyes drag over the length of Shane’s body. He can see that he’s hard already; the fact that he can keep his cool like this while Ryan feels like he might melt through the bedsheets is irritating. 

“Shane, Jesus—” 

“Ryan,” Shane admonishes. “You’re going to have to be patient. I’ve barely touched you yet.” 

“I know—I need—” 

“I know what you need, baby, but if you don’t quiet down, I’ll have to find some way to keep you quiet, and gagging wasn’t on the list of things we discussed.” 

An exhilarating thrill winds down Ryan’s back, settling hot at the base of his spine. “Okay,” Ryan says, blinking his eyes up at the ceiling before resetting his gaze on Shane. 

Shane’s taken his shirt off already, thrown elsewhere. Ryan should know better than to think he’s cool, calm, and collected; Shane flushes from his cheeks down to his chest, a bright, dizzying pink. He’s gorgeous in the low light of the bedroom, casting golden over Shane’s pale skin. 

Now that he’s restrained, of course, all he wants to do is reach out and touch Shane all over, wherever he can fit his hands. 

Ryan keeps his eyes on Shane’s hands, the way deft fingers slowly undo the button of his pants, lowering the zipper so all that resonates through the bedroom is the sound of zipper teeth dragging underneath Ryan’s heavy breathing. Ryan just wants to be touched; badly enough. 

He doesn’t know if it’s Shane taking his time, or if it’s because he’s tied up and his hands are useless, but all he needs is a bit of friction to ease the ache in his belly. 

Shane pushes his pants and underwear down the length of his legs, stepping out of them. Much too far away, Ryan appreciates every inch of flesh he can see. The flush of Shane’s shoulders, the soft tan of Shane’s nipples, the trail of hair that drips from his belly button down to the base of his cock; Ryan licks his lips, wishing he could just get down on his knees and swallow Shane down. 

Kneeling on the bed, Shane crawls up the length of Ryan’s body, using the length of his limbs to his advantage. He’s lithe, graceful, and Ryan reaches to touch, but the snag of the rope around his wrists keeps him tethered. Shane looks down at him, grinning, eyes sparkling something wicked. He’s so pretty, Ryan thinks, hair falling over his forehead, brown eyes glowing, as he levels his gaze at Ryan. 

“Shane, please,” Ryan whispers. “I know—I know, I gotta be quiet, but touch me please. Kiss me, do _something_.” 

Shane ducks his head down, and Ryan leans up to meet him for a kiss, but that goes wayward when Shane presses his mouth to Ryan’s chest instead. His breaths are hot and damp, and Ryan moans softly, arching his back into the touch. 

“Five minutes in, and you’re already a mess,” Shane murmurs against his skin. Ryan marvels at the length of Shane’s eyelashes casting dark shadows against his cheeks. He looks up at Ryan, his lips still pressed to Ryan’s heated flesh. 

Shane is uniquely qualified to stretch Ryan’s patience. He knows how to get Ryan to laugh heartily, how to shock him, how to stop him in his tracks, how to provoke him. Shane’s face is concentrated as he trails his fingers over Ryan’s stomach, kisses across his chest, digs his teeth into Ryan’s shoulder. 

“You did so good tonight,” Shane breathes, glancing to his face briefly before looking back down at the path of his fingers again. Ryan feels his body struggle with the need to both push up into Shane’s hands and slump down, sated for a moment by the praise Shane’s held onto since Ryan slipped into the passenger side seat in the parking lot. 

“Shane,” he starts again.

Shane doesn’t scold him this time, but instead shocks Ryan by reaching down and running his finger tips up Ryan’s hard length without warning. Ryan bucks, feeling the pull of the rope in his shoulders, the reactionary clench of his balls, but the bend of his spine against the mattress is the most bone aching. 

“Again,” he groans, unable to stop himself.

“No, I don’t think so.” It’s said with such finality that Ryan has to clench his jaw to keep from opening his mouth again. 

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling slowly through his his nose and pleading with his heart to slow the fuck down. Thankfully, Shane’s hands fall away, and when Ryan opens his eyes again, Shane is just gazing at the entire spread out length of him, like he’s something to devour.

“Come on, turn over,” Shane finally says once he’s looked his fill, and Ryan’s already trembling, but he shivers anyway, grasping his ties as he rolls his body over. His forearms cross, but it’s not uncomfortable. Ryan gets himself settled onto his knees, feeling vulnerable, a little exposed, but Shane’s whistle of appreciation makes his body flood with warmth. 

Shane’s hands are on his body again; they start against Ryan’s back, his shoulder blades, dragging downward until the span of Shane’s hands curl around Ryan’s hips. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Ryan breathes when he feels Shane’s hips against his own, the slow grind of Shane’s cock against his ass. “Shane, please, _please,”_ Ryan begs, closing his eyes tight as he bows his head, trying his hardest to regulate his breathing. 

“All in due time, Ryan. Be good for me.” Shane’s voice comes grounded, neat, not at all frazzled like Ryan’s raspy beg. 

Ryan pants against his arms, pushing his hips back against Shane. 

The smack of Shane’s hand against his ass makes him yelp, as the heat fizzles into a pleasant warmth at his backside, travelling neatly up the length of his spine to settle onto his shoulders, and burst like fireworks. 

“Color?” 

“ _Green_ ,” Ryan huffs. “Again, Shane, please.” 

Another smack, and then the grind of Shane’s cock against his hole; Ryan’s thighs shake enough that he might collapse into the bedsheets. He doesn’t, just leans into the striking, blinding flash of pain before it blooms sweet. Ryan groans when Shane spanks him again. 

It continues like that, a constant but measured procession of smacks, until Ryan is sure he must be pink from hips to thighs. Shane grinds against him with pointed intent before pulling away, and the cool air against Ryan’s skin sends a different kind of shiver down his back. 

At the sound of the lube cap clicking open, Ryan nearly sobs. He feels wound so tight he could break; he’s so hard, it aches. The binds around his wrists hurt with how hard he tugs against them. His mind is foggy, hazy with how badly he wants Shane.

The touch of Shane’s fingers is gentle, warm, wet when he sinks his finger inside. Ryan immediately pushes back, like he might be able to get more. 

“Be _good,_ Ryan,” Shane’s voice comes, rougher now, like maybe he’s finally straddling the same precarious edge that Ryan has the entire night. 

Ryan tries to keep his hips still, tries not to move as Shane’s fingers sink inside of him, careful and slow, drawing in and out as they stretch Ryan open. Ryan pants from the feeling of being touched, of being filled, even if it’s nothing like what he needs, what he wants. 

There’s a rolling wave that washes over him, makes his back arch underneath the pressure surmounting at the base of his spine. It still takes too long, and Ryan still yearns to tell Shane to get a move on, but at this point, if Shane stops what he’s doing to re-establish who’s in charge right now, Ryan will break into sobbing pieces. So he closes his mouth and presses his face into a forearm.

After Shane’s successfully had three fingers in him for a truly unknowable amount of time, he finally pulls back with a gentle little pat to his lower back. 

“Don’t take more than I give you, remember to breathe,” Shane warns, “and use your colors. Color?”

_“Green,”_ Ryan pleads, desperate.

And finally, Shane doesn’t dawdle. He slides right home on the first try, slick from tip to base, and gives Ryan no time to adjust. He bottoms out and pulls back half a second later, and then pushes in again before Ryan can even get a gasp out. He sets a fast pace, almost punishing, and Ryan knows he’s going to ache after all this, everywhere and in every joint.

Shane had warned Ryan not to take more than he gave him, but there’s no way that Ryan could even contemplate doing anything other than trying to breathe enough. He pounds into Ryan, and it’s all that Ryan can do to keep himself up, arms twisted and wrists pulled in opposite directions. He moans, breathy _uh, uh_ , noises dripping from his mouth every time Shane presses in.

Without stopping or warning, Shane brings his palm down on Ryan again. “Ass up,” he demands, and Ryan scrambles to find purchase with his knees. Shane’s hand works its way up Ryan’s back, gripping hard like a vice over the curve between his neck and shoulder. 

The next thrust forces air out of Ryan’s lungs with a punched out, _“Ungh,”_ but Shane still doesn’t stop. 

“Good,” Shane praises, and there’s another resounding smack on Ryan’s ass, the sting of it resonating over his whole body. The rhythmic _slap-slap-slap_ of Shane’s hips against him is the only thing he has room for in his brain, now. He’s full and then he’s empty and then he’s full again in such quick succession that Ryan’s brain has just found the middle ground and called it a day. 

His cock is aching, neglected and hanging heavy under him; it hurts so good. Ryan’s not sure if he’d rather be touched or left completely alone, like direct pressure might be too much. Shane’s pace hasn’t faltered since he pushed into Ryan, but it does now. At least that’s just what Ryan thinks, at first. Shane comes to a complete stop, seated right to the root. Ryan’s body screams at him to move, to escape the burn of being tied into one position for too long.

“I’m gonna take that second picture now,” Shane voices, almost too quiet, and Ryan feels the groan fall out of his own mouth before he hears it. 

“Green,” Ryan breathes before Shane can even ask, and he hears a gentle huff of laughter in response.

As Shane leans over to grab his phone, still laying off to the side of them on the mattress, he presses closer to Ryan, grinding intentionally. Ryan feels his dick twitch as Shane presses against him on the inside, so different to the gruelling, quick pace of two seconds ago. 

“Look at you,” Shane almost croons, though somewhat breathlessly, Ryan notes. “All flushed and pink and panting, stretched around my cock.” Ryan feels Shane’s thumb brush over where he’s pressed into Ryan, and if Ryan had the ability, he would shiver. 

Shane grinds in again, just to make a point, and Ryan babbles incoherently, cursing his brain which seems to have completely exited the building.

“What’s that, baby?” Shane teases, and before he realises what’s happening, Shane is tugging his hair so that Ryan’s face is turned enough that Shane can see it from his position behind Ryan, which makes sense since he has a phone camera pointed down over Ryan. “Nothing?” Shane waits another second, and all Ryan has the mental capacity for is breathing deeply and rewrapping his hands around the rope at his wrists. Shane lets go of his grip on Ryan’s hair, leaning back again.

There’s the initial shutter of the camera, the burst of a few more, and then Shane’s phone bounces on the bedspread next to Ryan’s head, close enough that Ryan can see the last shot taken. Before he can even sneak a closer look, Shane’s hands are back to being curled over his hips, and Shane’s fucking him so hard again that he’s not entirely sure his body will ever recover from this night, how easily his body submitted to how _good_ it all feels. 

Shane is relentless, and before long, Ryan feels Shane’s hands on the dip of his waist, pressing pressing _pressing_ until his knees are as far apart as they’ll go under the weight of him. There’s more slack in the rope now that he's inched up closer to the headboard a bit, and he fists his hands in the covers tightly. Distantly, he registers the sound of Shane’s grunts, and the shift from the regular, fast paced thrusting into something more erratic. Ryan keens, arching the tiniest bit so Shane will graze him just right, and he breaks his vow of near-silence like he’s a huge dam with a precarious fault line just waiting for the right moment.

“Shane, Shane, please, Shane, _please,”_ he pants, weak and muffled and desperate. 

“Yeah,” Shane huffs, winded, and Ryan’s too tortured to even enjoy the sound. “You want to come, Ry?”

“Yes, yes, yes, _please.”_ Ryan might be embarrassed if he had enough bandwidth for it. He curls his toes so hard they ache.

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I’m gonna count down from ten.” Shane’s grip on his hips tightens even more. “When I get to one, you can come. Green?”

_“Green,_ fuck, Shane,” he whines. “Just—”

“Ten.”

Ryan shuts up.

“Nine.”

He clutches at the covers, the rope, fingers white with the force.

“Eight.”

He’s either not gonna make it to one, or he’s going to get to one and not be able to come without Shane’s hand, and the uncertainty of it all feels like it might rend him to pieces.

“Seven.”

The grinding is relentless.

“Six.”

Shane’s voice is breathier.

“Five.”

Ryan’s heart is raw.

“Four.”

There’s wetness in the corners of his eyes, and isn’t that something.

“Three.”

Smeared under his cheek.

“Two.”

Shane is wringing out everything Ryan has, twisted and tight and begging.

“One. Come, baby. Come on.” Shane’s voice breaks.

Shane flays him open, and Ryan ceases to exist.

-:-

When Ryan blinks his eyes open, his vision is hazy, but he can make out Shane’s face, his features, the crease of his forehead, the knit of his brows. It’s like he’s dreaming, and Shane’s just out of his grasp, like, maybe, if he reached out, Shane would disappear. 

“Hey,” Shane murmurs lowly, his tone gentle. Shane’s fingers stroke his cheek, and Ryan closes his eyes, leaning into the very real warmth of Shane’s hand. “You doin’ okay?” 

Ryan nods, opening his eyes again; his eyelids are heavy, and he feels like he’s drunk, listless, floating. 

“Tell me with words how you feel, Ry,” Shane coaxes, the touch of his thumb featherlight over Ryan’s bottom lip. 

“‘M sleepy, Shane,” Ryan whispers, blinking sluggishly. “I’m just—I’m tired.” 

“Does anything hurt?” Shane looks worried; the purse of his lips conveys concern, and Ryan just wants to kiss it away. 

He can’t lie though, his wrists are bound by a slow, dull throb, and the rest of his body shares an aching stiffness. Not unlike when he works out, but it’s settled in already, so, so quickly. He’s sticky, and he feels the itchy prickle of sweat in various places. 

“Just my wrists,” Ryan settles, looking up at Shane’s face. He raises his hand to touch Shane’s face, swiping his thumb against Shane’s cheek. “I’m okay, Shane, I promise.” 

“You passed out on me there for a bit.” Shane takes a deep breath. “Do you want to come shower with me?” 

Ryan’s mind is cloudy, overcast, and he wants nothing more than to lay in bed, give into the exhaustion. “Was I good?” Ryan croaks, closing his eyes again. 

“So good, Ryan. You were amazing. You’re incredible.” Shane’s voice is light, like daytime, like springtime, like Sunday morning. It’s calming, delicate, and Ryan believes him. 

“Promise?” Ryan asks, just for good measure.

“Promise, Ry. You were so good for me. Can you be good and come with me for a shower? I’ll get you all cleaned up, and we can go to bed, okay?”

Ryan nods, taking a deep breath before he looks up at Shane. “Kiss me first. Please?” 

“Alright,” Shane says, leaning down and kissing Ryan. His mouth is warm, soft, and Ryan feels Shane’s hand against his waist, a reverent touch, and Ryan sighs. 

“Come on, Ry,” Shane murmurs against his lips. “Let’s get you showered.” 

Carefully, Ryan registers Shane helping him up, sitting him on the edge of the bed. Shane makes him drink some water, which he does, slowly, and it soothes the dryness in his throat. He doesn’t drink too much, still more tired than anything, leaning his head against Shane’s shoulder. 

“I really don’t want to, Shane,” Ryan says, smearing his smile into Shane’s flesh. 

“But you gotta,” Shane reasons. “It’ll be quick, over before you know it, and then it’s lights out for you.” 

When he stands, his legs are shaky and they threaten to give out, but Shane keeps him upright. Ryan shifts so he collides with Shane’s body, looping his arms around Shane’s neck. Even though he tries, his legs protest when he tries to rock up onto his toes; he whimpers. Shane drifts his fingers through Ryan’s hair, his voice soft when he whispers _it’s okay,_ kissing his forehead. Ryan feels so cared for, so warm. 

When they get into the bathroom, the shower is already running and the room is muggy from the steam. It feels good on Ryan’s skin, and he shivers, clutching Shane’s fingers in his hand. Shane’s careful helping Ryan inside the tub, leading him towards the spray of the shower, and it feels so good all over he closes his eyes to blink away the tears that build up. He’s so tired, so, so tired. 

“I’m gonna get you washed up, okay? But I need you to help me,” Shane says, his voice calm and easy, sending ripples of comfort rolling through Ryan. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” 

Ryan does what he’s asked, looking up at Shane as he sets his hands on Shane’s chest, dragging them upwards. Shane uses his hands, all over Ryan’s body, gently washing him, and Ryan keeps hold of Shane’s shoulders when he kneels. 

After, Shane disconnects the shower head to rinse Ryan off. Shane makes quick work of himself, and when they’re both washed clean, Ryan brings Shane in, burrowing against his chest. Even though Ryan would rather be asleep, he just wants to be close to Shane. For a while, they stand under the hot spray of the water, in the limbo of afterglow.

When it starts to run cold, Shane shuts it off and gets out first. He wraps himself in a towel and takes his time drying Ryan off. Ryan hums and groans as Shane drags a towel over his hair, his shoulders, careful with each arm.

“Do you want to wear something to sleep in?” Shane asks, kneeling in front of Ryan as he dries off Ryan’s legs. His eyes are soft, amber, like whiskey, like bourbon, like brown sugar, and every bit as sweet. 

“Yes, please,” Ryan answers. 

“What do you want? I’ll go get it for you.” 

Truthfully, Ryan doesn’t care, but Shane’s looking up at him, expecting an answer, so Ryan says, “Something of yours.” 

Shane’s smile glows, fond and enamored. Ryan suffers through the ache and bends at the waist to kiss him. 

In the bedroom, Shane gives Ryan a t-shirt, and Ryan pulls on a pair of briefs while Shane busies himself changing out the sheets. 

“Are you hungry?” Shane walks over to him, holding a bottle of water after pulling on his own t-shirt. Ryan takes the water, shaking his head. 

“No, this is fine. I’m just—I really just want to sleep, please?”

“Absolutely. Come on. You get comfy, I’m gonna make sure everything is locked up, okay?”

Ryan nods, drinking from the bottle of water. He stands and waits for Shane to come back, eyeing the bed, remembering; it sends a shiver down his spine, and part of him can’t believe his dick has the audacity to seem interested. 

When Shane returns, he winds his arms around Ryan, pushing him gently towards the bed. “Thought you were tired, babe?”

“Was waiting for you,” Ryan murmurs, setting his bottle of water down on the nightstand before finally climbing into bed. Shane turns off the light, and in the dark, Ryan feels Shane’s hands reach for him underneath the weight of the blankets. Ryan goes, tangling himself among Shane’s limbs, hiding his face in Shane’s neck. 

“You okay, Ryan?” Shane whispers. 

“Can you—I just—” Ryan pulls at Shane, rolling them just enough so Ryan’s body is tucked halfway underneath Shane. Ryan sighs, content; he hooks his ankle around Shane’s. Even in the dark, he can make out Shane’s face. 

“Hey,” Ryan whispers. 

“Hmm?” Shane hums, rubbing his face into Ryan’s shoulder. 

“Love you.” 

Ryan sets his hand on Shane’s face, and kisses him all over. His cheeks, his forehead, his chin, his nose, his eyelids. Shane laughs, soft and breathy, sweet where it winds around Ryan’s heart and melts, makes the garden in his chest bloom and bloom and bloom. 

“Love you,” Ryan says. “So much.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

Shane takes Ryan’s hand in his, pressing his lips ever so softly to the delicate skin of Ryan’s wrist, and Ryan’s heart quickens in his chest. It’s a sentiment so sweet, Ryan can’t help but lean in and kiss Shane properly. 

-:-

In the morning, Ryan wakes with Shane pressed along the length of his back, his arm wrapped tight around Ryan’s waist. Ryan tangles their ankles together, and he feels Shane drop a kiss to the nape of his neck. 

He’s still within the grasp of sleep, and almost decides to slip back under, but he blinks his eyes open and pushes himself back into Shane’s chest. 

“Morning, Ry,” Shane whispers. 

“Morning.” Ryan rubs his hand over Shane’s forearm, and Shane holds him a little tighter. 

“How are you feeling?” Shane presses gentle kisses along Ryan’s shoulder. 

“I’m okay.” Ryan shuffles out of Shane’s grasp, and stretches the length of his body, groaning loud and shutting his eyes tight. Everything fucking hurts; his body is so stiff and his thighs ache from last night’s strain. The throbbing in his wrists has gone, but they’re still tender. Regardless, Ryan rolls into Shane, facing him, his hands pressed against Shane’s chest. “How are you?” 

Shane still looks soft from sleep, pillow lines on his face, eyes hazy. He smiles, though, and Ryan does, too. 

“I’m so tired, and I feel like I’ve been lifting and squatting. A good workout all around,” Ryan says easily, voice still raspy with sleep.

“Yeah, but what about up here?” Shane touches his hand to Ryan’s forehead, running his fingers through Ryan’s hair. It doesn’t astonish Ryan that Shane cares so deeply for him, but it does exponentiate the love he feels for Shane. 

“I’m okay up there, too. I’m _fine_ ,” Ryan promises. “Really.”

“I just—it was really intense.” 

“Did you like it?” 

“Yeah,” Shane breathes. “But if you—but if you didn’t, or you find that you don’t, now, that would drastically change how I feel about it.” 

“I liked it, Shane,” Ryan says with a smile. “Not _everyday—_ ” 

“I think,” Shane muses, rounding his arm around Ryan’s waist, pressing his hand to Ryan’s back, “I think it’ll be a really long time before we get around to doing something like that again.”

“Well, I liked the spanking,” Ryan says, feeling his face flush with heat, looking down at Shane’s chest. 

“Scandalous,” Shane teases. 

“Shut up, Shane.” Ryan leans into Shane, pressing a kiss at the hollow of Shane’s throat.

“Anything else?” 

Ryan shrugs. “It was good. A lot, but good. Was it good for you? Was it everything you hoped for?” 

Shane grins. “It was—better than anything I could’ve imagined. A real fantasy come to life” 

“Good,” Ryan says, leaning forward to kiss Shane’s cheek. “I’m starving, though. Make me a smoothie?” 

“A _smoothie?_ ” 

“Yes, Shane, that’s what you drink after a workout. I left protein powder in the kitchen,” Ryan huffs. 

Shane cackles. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Joke’s on you,” Ryan mutters. “I’ve got it on good authority that you’re in love with me.” 

“Don’t know where you got that information from,” Shane teases playfully. Ryan rolls his eyes. 

As Shane extracts himself from Ryan’s hold, Ryan hesitates to let him go, feeling something acidic bubble up inside of him at being left alone in bed. It’s fleeting, and Ryan lets Shane leave, but it doesn’t diminish how badly he’d rather have Shane stay lying with him. 

Ryan grabs his phone from the nightstand for a distraction, willing away his clinginess. The usual notifications populate his screen, and he thumbs through them, reading some and neglecting others. It isn’t until he opens Instagram that he’s reminded of the photos. 

When he looks over, he spies Shane’s phone on the other nightstand, plugged into the charger. Anticipation and excitement and curiosity mix into something fierce, enough that when Shane comes walking in with Ryan’s smoothie and a coffee mug, Ryan doesn’t hesitate. 

“Can I see the pictures?” Ryan asks, doing his best to keep his voice steady as Shane hands Ryan his glass. 

Shane’s face is expressionless, stoic as ever, and he licks his lips. Ryan’s eyes follow the movement. Before Shane can answer, Ryan says, “Have you looked at them yet?” 

“I have.” 

“Do you like them?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Will you show them to me?” 

Shane sits next to him on the bed, and Ryan pulls the blankets up over them, sipping his smoothie before setting it on the nightstand. Shane grabs his phone, unlocking the screen and taps around. He hands the device to Ryan. 

The first one is innocent, in terms of what he knows he’s going to find. It’s just him, lying naked against the bed, propped up on his arms. Past-Ryan really had no idea what he was getting into, the amount of boundaries that were going to be pushed, finding out he enjoyed demolishing those boundaries with Shane. 

“You okay?” Shane asks, laying the span of his hand over Ryan’s thigh. Ryan looks up at him. 

“I’m fine. It’s just photos.” 

Shane hums. 

Ryan swipes. 

The next one is wildly different. Shane’s hand is fisted in his hair and Ryan looks back, towards the camera, from over his shoulder. It’s peculiar to see it like this, from Shane’s point of view, an audience to his own being as he analyzes the photograph. His flesh is red--he’s just red and blushing all over. The ropes are tugged taut from the bed frame to Ryan’s hands. The curve of his spine is pornographic and—

Well, so is the angle of the shot, how he can see Shane stretching him open. Ryan’s heart is beating so fast in his chest. 

The lighting sucks, it’s off-center, a candid shot of Ryan in the middle of being torn apart. 

“Honestly,” Ryan says, sucking in a breath. “It belongs in the Louvre.” 

It’s then that he realizes Shane had been sitting so tense next to him; Shane laughs, loud and abundant. _Relieved_. 

Ryan swipes through the next few, variations of himself filled up and tied down. There’s something about seeing himself like this, knowing that the moment has been immortalized; it satiates _something_ inside of him. Some sexually perverse desire. Ryan locks the phone screen and tosses Shane’s cell on to his lap. 

“So, I liked the spanking _and_ the pictures,” Ryan says, leaning into Shane. “Is it totally insane that I want to just—” Ryan grunts, because he can’t find the words to explain how much he wishes he didn’t ache so much all over and could just climb onto Shane’s lap and ride him stupid. “Just, body be damned.” 

Shane grins, pulling Ryan in for a sweet kiss. “You need to rest and recuperate before we do _anything_ ,” he says.

Though, it seems, _anything_ excludes kissing, and Ryan gets lost in the sheer fun of making out with Shane, before finishing his smoothie and taking a nap.

-:-

Moonlight glimmers through cracks in the curtains in their bedroom back in LA.

Shane’s been lying awake for hours. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and checks the time; it’s just after five. Ryan is draped across his chest, breathing soft and warm against his skin. Shane’s arm is around his shoulder, laying as still as he can like he has been for the last two hours so he doesn’t wake Ryan. 

It’s just. It’s a little bit funny, isn’t it? 

If Shane laid out the last four years and picked apart time, he’d still come up with the startlingly blind question of _when_? When did it change from friends to this? Shane doesn’t remember looking at Ryan with passing attraction. Or _where_? Where did Shane look at Ryan for the first time and _see_ him? Oregon? West Virginia? London? Kansas? 

Their bullpen desks? 

He knows how, though. He knows that because he'll never forget the sweet way Ryan had laughed when Shane told him out of the blue, in the middle of the day on their way to lunch, that he was, in short, in love with Ryan. 

Shane had said, with a burst of something like urgency, “I love you, Ryan.”

And Ryan had responded, eyes looking away, with, “I love you, too, big guy.” 

Shane had taken his glasses off, and shook his head. “Nope. No—I mean, thanks, but I mean the other kind.” Shane rubbed his hands over his face and set his hand on Ryan’s knee. “There’s something here, right? It’s not just me?” 

Ryan had looked up at him then, his smile completely gone, a soft, very pink, very rich blush adorning his cheeks. “Uh—yeah. Well. Something has been _here_ for a while. Right? Like for a _long_ time.” Ryan puts his hand over Shane’s. 

“You wanna do something about it?” Shane had asked. He’d turned his hand over underneath Ryan’s, and Ryan settled his fingers between the spaces of Shane’s. His palm was sweaty, and Ryan’s smile was unsure. 

“You think that’s a good idea?” 

“It’s a terrible idea.” 

Ryan threw his head back and cackled out a laugh, and Shane had felt a little like he’d been tilted too far to one side and finally righted. 

“Let’s do it anyway,” Shane had said. 

And Ryan had turned and looked at him, reached out and bunched his fingers in the collar of Shane’s shirt before smashing their mouths together over the center console. 

Even now, lying in their bed, with Ryan sleeping over his chest, he laughs. Cause it had been a bad idea, ill-advised, statistically improbable. 

And yet. He’s got Ryan sleeping half on top of him, his curly hair a mess, and Shane is so stupidly in love it’s nauseating. Except it isn't at all. It’s stabilizing as much as it is frustrating. 

There are too many emotions caught in his chest. It’s not even a special day. It’s the middle of April, which is months away from everything. Ryan’s birthday isn’t until November, and their anniversary passed in January, and—

Something about Shane’s sleeplessness has left him feeling carved open and vulnerable, feeling exposed even though there isn’t anyone but himself witnessing the slow unfurl of his sentimental thoughts. 

And because most of the time, whenever he feels like this, too inside himself, too full from what he feels, he reaches for Ryan. Gently, Shane touches his fingertips to Ryan’s cheek, thumb over his bottom lip. Ryan stirs; he’s always been a light sleeper. 

“Shane?” Ryan whispers, he tilts his head back to look up at Shane. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, babe,” Shane promises. “I just want you.” 

“Any reason this can’t wait until the sun is up?” Ryan’s smile is sleepy, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses his mouth to Shane’s ribs. 

“I want you now?” Shane says, somewhat uncertain. Ryan stretches at his side, and climbs on top of him. Ryan knocks his knee into Shane’s thigh. 

“Ow, Jesus,” Shane huffs. 

“Sorry, sorry. At least it wasn’t your balls.” Ryan leans down to kiss Shane and misses, lips landing against Shane’s chin. “I need those.” 

Shane laughs, pulling Ryan down against him. Their bodies collide and Shane feels grounded underneath the heaviness of Ryan’s sleep-warm body. Ryan looks at him, smiling much too brightly for someone who’s been woken in the middle of the night, especially when that specific someone has trouble sleeping. Shane should feel bad, but considering that smile, Shane just can’t find it within himself to. 

“What—did you have like a sex dream or something? You’re like—” Ryan wiggles his hips against Shane. 

“Nah,” Shane says. “Just been thinkin’ about you.” 

Ryan makes a face. “You know, you’re always like—” Ryan drops his voice low and mocking, in that way he always does when he does a Shane impression, “—’ _I don’t like talking to people about my feelings_ ’ blah blah. But _then_ , you say BS like this, and I get, like, premature ventricular contractions.” 

“What?” Shane says, grinning up at Ryan. 

“You make my heart skip a beat.” 

“Gross, get out.” 

“You started it!” 

Shane rolls them over so Ryan lays underneath him. Ryan winds his arms around Shane’s neck. 

“Just admit it, Shane. You’re soft on the inside. I’m wearing you down. You’re—” 

Shane shuts him up with a kiss, and for a moment, Ryan laughs into it, but then his fingers curl into Shane’s hair, and he makes a soft little noise, and that’s the end of Ryan’s tirade. 

Now, Shane devotes his attention to Ryan’s body, touching over Ryan’s waist, his thigh, hooking his grip behind Ryan’s knee and grinding down into his hips. 

“Jesus, Shane—give me a second to catch up here,” Ryan breathes out into the bedroom once Shane’s got his mouth on Ryan’s neck. Ryan arches underneath Shane, and Shane nips at Ryan’s throat. “Do you want me to suck you off?” 

“No.” Shane groans, pulling back to look down at Ryan. It’s been a handful of minutes and he already looks wrecked, hair messy over his forehead. “I wanna be inside you. Can I?” 

“Yeah, babe, whatever you want,” Ryan says easily, reaching up to kiss him again. It’s ultrasoft, gentle, and it reaches inside of Shane and twists. It’s intense, but not by motion; Ryan keeps the kiss sweet, just the catch of lips, lingering presses. It’s intense because sometimes, all the feelings he holds for Ryan burst inside of him all at once, so much so he feels the need to be anchored, a sailboat of sorts in the riotous waves of Ryan’s ocean.

Leaning up on a forearm, Shane lifts himself to switch on the bedside lamp and reach for the lube in the nightstand drawer. Ryan’s mouth is hot over his chest, his sternum, hands pressed against his waist. It makes Shane shiver, and when Shane comes back to him, they shuffle out of their pants, push away the blankets, and Shane takes his time like he hasn’t in a while. 

He doesn’t know why he does when all he wants is to settle into the cradle of Ryan’s thighs, maybe hold hands while they fuck—some obvious, in-his-feelings, stupidly-in-love kind of sex. Instead, he’s slow with his movements, gentle with his kisses, touching Ryan with the kind of reverence he deserves, all while the sky changes from black to blue. 

“Come here.” Ryan reaches out his hand for the back of Shane’s arm, and Shane obeys, falling against Ryan, which makes Ryan give a little _oof_. “Jesus.” 

“Sorry. I slipped,” Shane says, grinning down at Ryan. Shane pushes Ryan’s hair away from his forehead, and Ryan might be tired, but he’s wide-eyed, irises bright when they look up at Shane. His skin is flushed, and he smiles as he wheezes his laugh, and Shane bites down on his lip.

Nothing has happened yet, but it kind of feels like something might. He doesn’t know what it is, but it feels like something is looming, in a way that makes his flesh feel warm, like he could just close his eyes and settle his face into the curve of Ryan's neck and breathe in the scent of Ryan’s skin for an indefinite amount of time.

“Come _on_ ,” Ryan whines. “Get on with it, man.” 

“Alright, alright,” Shane mumbles. Ryan reaches his hands around Shane’s waist, to press at the bottom of his spine. 

Shane sinks inside Ryan, where he’s hot and wet, snug around his cock. Ryan says his name in that desperate whisper that sends chills rolling down Shane’s spine.

For a moment, everything is very, very still. 

There’s early evening sunlight behind his eyelids when Shane closes his eyes, reminding him of the day they decided. When everything became more. When they allowed themselves affection that wasn’t hidden behind bits and insults. Shane, though, doesn’t ever remember it being like this.

Shane moves, breathing hot against Ryan’s mouth when he presses his forehead against Ryan’s. Shane hooks his arm underneath Ryan’s shoulder, keeping their chests pressed close together as Ryan rolls his hips up. “Please,” he breathes. “Please, Shane.”

When Shane leans up so he can look down at Ryan, his hair hangs over his forehead and Ryan uses his fingers to comb back the locks, even though they fall again. Ryan keeps a hand on Shane’s cheek, eyes so intense while they watch each other. Ryan’s body is hot underneath him, his legs curled around Shane’s waist as Shane thrusts into him. The heels of Ryan’s feet dig into the bottom of Shane’s spine, grounding him, keeping him somewhere on earth rather than floating away in this sudden flood of soft, golden-hued emotions.

“Yes, yes,” Ryan whispers. “ _Shane_.” Shifting his hips, Shane presses in deep, eliciting soft gasps from Ryan when he does, Ryan’s fingers clutching his hair.

With the hold he has on Ryan, Shane rolls their bodies over and newly positioned, Ryan sits up on his lap and slowly shifts his hips, settling his palms of Shane’s chest. Ryan is hard and wet between his thighs, dipping all over Shane's belly. 

“Oh,” Ryan sighs. “I see. You wake me up just to—mmph, _God_ —just to do all the work.”

“Not true,” Shane says, defending himself. “Fuck, _Ryan_ —just wanna see you better.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan gently slides a hand over Shane's throat, thumbing swiftly over Shane’s Adam’s apple before slipping his fingers through Shane’s hair. Shane’s hips jolt up and Ryan gives a breathy, broken moan. He throws his head back, and that's how he stays, moaning into the bedroom, skin glistening with sweat as he rocks his hips against Shane’s. He looks incredible, even in the dim light of the lamp, and there’s a wash of emotion over Shane that feels a lot like luck.

When Ryan looks down at him, he furrows his brow. “What, why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?” Shane asks him, grinning. 

“Like—I don't know.” Ryan’s skin flushes and Shane can't help but touch his hands to Ryan’s chest, his stomach, settling for his hips. 

Shane says, as easy as anything else, “You’re it for me, Ry.” 

“Me? I’m it for you?” Ryan says with a playful smile. 

“Yeah.” 

Ryan leans down and says, lowly, with a big wide grin, “Good, cause you’re stuck with me.”

All Shane can do is lean up to touch his mouth to Ryan’s chest, the hollow of his throat, smearing kisses against heat flushed skin. Ryan’s rhythm gains momentum, and Shane encourages him, groaning hot against Ryan’s skin.

“Touch me, Shane, please,” Ryan gasps. “I’m so close.” 

With a hand between their bodies, Shane grasps Ryan’s length, stroking quick until Ryan comes, dripping over Shane’s fist, shooting onto Shane’s belly. Shane watches him, keeps his eyes on Ryan’s face when Ryan bows his head and his spine curves, arching as his hips undulate wildly, uncoordinated, squeezing tight around Shane shoved in so deep inside of him. Ryan’s fingers grip hard into Shane’s shoulders and his mouth drops open as he groans, calling out Shane’s name into the quiet air of their bedroom. He’s nearly ethereal.

When Ryan comes down, he’s useless about it, sitting on Shane’s lap, breathing hard as he wilts against Shane, looping his arms around Shane’s neck. Shane brings him close, flipping their bodies over again so Ryan’s lying underneath him, pretty and sated, looking up at Shane with a dazed and dazzling smile. 

“Love you,” Ryan says. Shane builds his rhythm but it’s slow, hard, and Ryan’s eyes close. He moans softly, kissing Shane when he slants his mouth against Ryan’s. He’s close, can feel it, a surmounting pressure inside of him; the cant of his hips quickens, and Ryan calls out his name, fingers raking through Shane’s hair. 

Shane grips Ryan’s thigh with his hand, widens the spread of his legs; he hides his face in the curve of Ryan’s shoulder and presses in deep. He comes long, hard, the waves of his climax drowning him. He chokes out Ryan’s name, and Ryan’s gentle with him, his hand drifting up and down Shane’s back as Shane’s body shudders through his orgasm, grinding out the rest of it against Ryan.

Ryan makes a soft little noise, kissing over his shoulder, his chest, using his fingers to bring Shane back in for a kiss, reverent. Ryan touches him like he’s fragile. Shane just lays against him, trying desperately to get his breathing to slow.

“You okay, Shane?” Ryan whispers.

Shane hums. “Good, I’m good.” Shane leans up to look down at Ryan. Ryan looks tired, sweaty, soft and ruined and gorgeous. Shane takes a deep breath. “This is good, too, you know.”

“What?”

“This. Us. When we do it like this. It’s good.”

“You mean without—”

“Kinks are good, but like, I love _you_ , Ry. And I just—I don’t _need_ all the rest. This is—this is just as good as all of that.”

Ryan’s cheeks flush and his smile is soft and delicate. “Okay.” With both of his hands on either of Shane’s cheeks, Ryan says, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Kiss me,” Shane says softly, and Ryan does. 

Cleaning up is an entire affair; they opt for a shower, which is Ryan leaning against Shane most of the time as Shane wipes him down and soaps him up.

In fresh clothes, Ryan makes coffee and when he’s made them both mugs, Shane takes his hand and leads him out to the balcony, where they sit on the floor. Ryan sits between Shane’s thighs, leaning his back against Shane’s chest.

Shane presses a soft kiss to Ryan’s wet hair.

The sun comes up, slow and drowsy, scattering the sky with tangerine and the muddled pink of Ryan’s blush.

**Author's Note:**

> You may have noticed Yesi/loveontherocks answers all the comments, and this is because she is better at keeping up with that than I (Mel/justcourbeau) am. Please know I appreciate them just as much!
> 
> Toss us one last comment for the road, would you please?


End file.
